


He Kisses My Marks

by JuliusCaesarBitches



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Addiction, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Smut, friends with benefits but it turns into more, some fluff for fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:38:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 36,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24810178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliusCaesarBitches/pseuds/JuliusCaesarBitches
Summary: Arthur suffers with addiction, and it's starting to show. However, the one who notices is the person Arthur would like the least to notice.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!  
> Finally got a chapter of this fic posted! Sorry I've been absent--my life has been so hectic and I've been so tired lately.  
> I hope you guys like the re-done version of what I had started before.  
> Thanks, darlings! <3

When people looked at Arthur, they tended to see him as a rather bland person. Especially adults. Teenagers his age considered him a “goody-two-shoes” due to his high marks and polite persona. In reality, he wasn’t like that at all. At least, he didn’t consider himself to be. After all, goody-two-shoes didn’t drink like it was their religion, though no one knew about that.

Currently, Arthur had a problem, and it was not the drinking. Yet.

No, his problem was that he was spiraling down, losing himself to the void in his chest waiting to swallow him up. The worst part, someone would notice eventually. Arthur was betting against himself on who it would be, and he was already sure he knew who. A complete stranger, the new guy at his school, wasn’t as blind as everyone else was. A new perspective, perhaps? It was possible, Arthur guessed. 

Said new guy was sitting not far from Arthur in class. Why Arthur had taken a math course while he knew he had no interest in anything it would be needed for, he had no clue. He could’ve gotten his final grade 12 credit another way, but he’d signed up for the math class anyway. 

He snuck a glance at the new guy--he wasn’t really new anymore, but Arthur had failed to get his name in the month and a half he’d been there--and was glad he’d taken the unneeded course. The guy had chin-length golden hair, flirty blue eyes, and a perfect nose. His square brows curved in a nearly feminine way. He was intoxicatingly handsome, and Arthur loved alcohol. 

When the bell rang, Arthur took his time packing his things. A polite cough caught his attention. He looked up to find the new guy standing at his desk.

“Yes?” he asked. The way the other boy was looking at him sent chills down his spine.

“You’re Arthur Kirkland, oui?” The french accent threw Arthur off, though he masked his confusion with a blink.

“Yes, I am,” he replied carefully, realizing this was his chance. “Who’s asking?”

“Francis Bonnefoy,” the new guy-- _ Francis _ \--smiled, showing his perfect white teeth and extending his hand for a shake. Arthur shoved the rest of his things into his bag and stood up, shaking Francis’ hand.

“How can I help you?” Arthur inquired.

Francis let out a low chuckle. “So formal. You’re a student tutor here, right?” Arthur nodded. “Well, English is giving me a hard time, and I was wondering if you would help me.”

Normally, Arthur would do what was supposed to be done; direct the student in need of help to the teacher running the tutoring program to have them properly matched with a tutor. But there was something in those eyes that lured him in. There was an uncertainty--this strong sense of simply  _ not knowing _ how this would turn out that made Arthur say, “Sure. When did you want to meet?”

“Today, if you’re not busy.” Such confidence radiated off Francis, like he was so sure Arthur would just say yes. A part of Arthur wanted to say “no”, just to see the other boy’s reaction, but he wasn’t a fool. He could see right through the facade, the way his smile seemed more forced than his initial approach. Francis was nervous that Arthur would turn him down. The thought gave Arthur a twisted sort of pleasure.

“Did you drive here?” He asked. 

“Non,” Francis replied. 

“Alright, we’ll take my car. There’s a cafe not far, we can work there.” 

“Actually, mon ami, I was hoping we could go back to my place. I work better in moderate silence.” That cheeky smile again. It was starting to piss Arthur off, and if Francis wasn’t so damn attractive Arthur may have hit him then and there.

“Sounds like a plan,” he replied instead, giving a polite smile to mask his annoyance.

Francis’ house was no “house”. It was a damn mansion, balconies and all. If the size of it wasn’t intimidating enough--surrounded by vividly green grass and perfectly grown rose bushes encasing a large stone driveway--the interior would chase people away.

Spotless, polished floors stretched wide. All the doorways had magnificent arches. The walls went on forever, connecting to the highest domed ceiling, all lined with an impeccably straight border. A glittering massive golden chandelier hung over the room. 

This couldn’t even be real.

“My bedroom is upstairs,” Francis said, removing his shoes and walking to the massive staircase. Arthur followed in pursuit, doing his best to keep up and keep cool. Arthur didn’t come from nothing--his family had more money than a lot of people--but he was still getting chills. 

The fact that he was going to a hot guy’s bedroom didn’t help his already knotting stomach.

The room itself was shaped like a cathedral, with another crystal chandelier to emphasize it. The curtains covering the large windows were a heavy, navy velvet that matched the bedding. The pillars accenting the walls’ corners seemed to loom over Arthur, making him feel claustrophobic even though the room was massive. The king sized bed was across from the door, pressed up against the wall. A desk was settled against the adjacent wall.

He got over himself, and pretty soon the two boys were working through Francis’ essay at his desk. Arthur was glad to have the work distract him, and used it even more when a servant-- _ who even has servants anymore _ , Arthur asked himself, baffled--brought them water.

About an hour and a half of tearing apart the essay, Arthur rose from his chair and stretched. “Where’s the washroom?” 

“Through that door,” Francis said, pointing to a closed door at the far end of the room. Arthur excused himself for a few minutes, and when he got back, Francis had moved all of their work to his bed. Though it slightly bothered Arthur, and made him feel more than uncomfortable, he joined Francis on the bed, keeping close to the edge.

They laid there for a bit longer, looking over the essay once more. It took Arthur a moment to realize that Francis had snaked his arm around his waist.

“Francis,” Arthur warned. When the other boy started to pull him closer, Arthur scooted away. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. “We’re supposed to be working!”

“But working is so boring,” Francis groaned, moving closer to Arthur. “And I could think of much better things to do.” He eyed Arthur up and down. Arthur leaned backward, but that only meant Francis leaned forward, now hovering over the Brit.

“I came here to teach you,” Arthur whispered, not really believing that this was happening, eyes flicking down to Francis’ perfect lips.

“Maybe you will teach me a few things,” Francis whispered back. When he went in for a kiss, Arthur didn’t bother stopping him. He thought about all the times he’d looked at Francis during class, and in the halls. How he’d barely had the courage to let himself think of having Francis in the way Francis had him now. 

Their lips connected, and Arthur let out a long sigh through his nose. He kissed back despite his logic telling him not to. Francis caressed his face so gently that it was like a phantom had touched his face. Arthur shifted up, craving to be closer to the other boy. Before he knew it, he was in Francis’ lap, said boy still kissing him so damn softly.

Francis broke the kiss, making Arthur whine at the loss. He chuckled, raising both hands to go through Arthur’s messy hair. “Well, you have taught me something.”

“What’s that?”

“That your kisses are addictive,” he replied, smiling easily and leaning in for another kiss. Arthur blushed, but still met him halfway.

When Arthur got back to his house, he was relieved to be alone in a space he knew well. After everything at Francis’, he needed something to comfort him, and he knew just how to achieve that.

Sitting cross legged on his bed, Arthur didn’t bother with the class of a cup as he drank from the bottle of scotch. He was pissed off--at himself or Francis, he didn’t know. Taking another swing, Arthur closed his eyes, his mind immediately putting him back in Francis’ bed, the frenchman’s hands all over his body, fingers dancing underneath his uniform. 

Arthur set down the bottle and sighed. Why had he been so stupid? A boy asks him to go over to his house, and Arthur really thinks they’ll end up working? Hadn’t he learned his lesson enough times to not be so naive?

Arthur felt his heart sink to the floor as he remembered all the times he’d made the same mistake. He wished for the pain and memories to go away, but they refused, more and more coming forward until Arthur was crying, reaching for the bottle once again.

It wouldn’t fix his mistakes--he knew that. But… he wanted desperately to forget, even just for while he was drunk and asleep.

He got his wish.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!  
> Okay, once again, a short chapter. I'm not gonna lie, I'm getting some heavy writer's block, but I'm trying to push through it.   
> Tell me what you guys think of this re-done/re-doing of the fic--I'd love to hear your opinions.  
> Thanks, darlings <3

When Arthur went to school the next day, there was no trace left on him that he’d cried himself to sleep, filled up with booze. He’d mastered the art of sobering himself up, though he would admit that he should cut back on school nights. Like that would happen.

Arthur made it through his classes, ignoring how the lights were screaming at him, making his head pound. Between classes he popped some Advil, drinking the water he should have drank the night before.

It wasn’t until math class that he ran into complications. Complications being Francis. It was clear the moment he strolled into the room that this wouldn’t go well for Arthur. The Frenchman's eyes seemed to look right through his clothes. Those same eyes were on him throughout half the class, though Arthur pretended not to notice. 

The end of school bell rang, and before Arthur could even pack his things, Francis was turned in his seat, staring right at Arthur.

Annoyed, Arthur finally acknowledged the other boy. “Yes?” He was already regretting giving Francis the attention. He wouldn’t go back to the house. He wouldn’t give in to the seductive look Francis was giving him. There was no way in hell that Arthur would follow him anywhe--

“How about that cafe?”

The bell chimed as Arthur opened the door, holding it for Francis. The checkered floors squeaked under their shoes, illuminated by the sun shining in wonderfully through the spotless windows. Arthur walked past Francis, getting in line for the counter. To his dismay, Francis stood close to his side. They made small talk while they waited, and ordered separately. 

Arthur resisted the urge to fiddle with his napkin, and took to looking out the window instead of meeting Francis’ gaze. A tense silence built between them, one that Arthur wasn’t sure how to break, or even sure if he wanted to break it.

“Arthur,” Francis said gently. The Brit would never admit how much it made his heart swoon, but he figured that was probably just because he knew Francis was capable of being as gentle as he sounded. As well as the opposite. “Is everything alright?”

“Of course, why do you ask?” Arthur replied, taking a sip of his tea. He then looked at Francis, and saw what he thought to be real concern in his eyes. But it couldn’t be. It made no sense. 

“You seemed off in class today,” the Frenchman stated. “Almost like you were hungover--I got worried.”

Arthur scrambled for an answer. “I, uhh, I had a couple drinks last night.” He added, “nothing too serious,” before taking another sip of his tea.

“Oh,” Francis said, taking a sip of his… whatever it was. “I didn’t know you drink.”

“You sort of don’t know me,” Arthur chuckled. At this point, it seemed like drinking was his best feature. If Francis seemed uncomfortable with that, Arthur didn’t even want to wonder how he would handle the rest.

“I want to.” Arthur looked up, finally meeting Francis’ gaze fully. He seemed so sincere, but… so did the others.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Arthur said curtly. 

“Then as friends, maybe.”

“Friends don’t make out like that.”

“Friends with benefits?”

Arthur laughed at that, a genuine laugh. It felt good; he hadn’t had a good laugh in too long. He composed himself, once again meeting Francis’ grin. He was so cocky, like he thought no one would ever say no to him. They probably hadn’t. “Why on earth would you want to be friends with m--”

“Friends with benefits,” Francis interjected.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Why on earth would you want to be friends  _ with benefits _ with me?” The thought was unbelievable--that someone as radiant as Francis would want someone like Arthur, even just for his body.

“Because,” Francis said leaning over the table, voice low, “I do.” 

Well, fuck, Arthur couldn’t argue with that. 

Several days passed, and everywhere Arthur went, Francis seemed to be there (besides classes, of course). Arthur decided to ignore the stares they got when they walked down the halls, Francis very close to him. Yet, the two boys hadn’t done much. It seemed like Francis actually wanted to get to know Arthur, and, honestly, the Brit didn’t know how to react. No one had ever taken the time to get to know Arthur--they just made their assumptions and moved on. 

It wasn’t until Friday that Francis invited Arthur over again, and Arthur didn’t miss the way Francis smirked when he said he needed more help on his essay. Unsurprisingly, Arthur had lept on the opportunity, and by the time he got home, he was drinking away his stupidity. 

“When will this end?” he asked himself, crying at his broken reflection.

Turns out the answer was the next day. Francis turned in his essay, getting it back the same day (Arthur had no clue how--his English teacher spent weeks marking essays) and had gotten 100%. He was so excited when he showed Arthur, thanking him repeatedly. The Brit’s heart did flips at the sight of Francis’ giddy smile, at how bright it was.

“That’s what friends are for,” he found himself saying in reply. There was a momentary pause, which made Arthur internally swear, thinking he’d taken… whatever they had too far. But then Francis’ smile widened ten fold, making his entire face glow, and he gave Arthur a crushing hug--no doubt crumpling his essay.

“Okay, okay,” Arthur said, annoyed by how much he loved Francis’ smile, and how much he wanted to see it again. “That’s enough.” He attempted to wiggle out of Francis’ arms, though he wanted nothing more to stay there forever. 

Francis eventually let him go, still wearing a small smile. It seemed so  _ pure _ , untainted by the horrors life had to offer. Arthur wondered how the hell someone could be so happy.

Could he ever be that happy?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!  
> I hope every one is doing well. Things have finally started to somewhat return to normal, not completely, though.  
> Also your patience is admirable. seriously. I have been taking so long to post chapters. *insert nervous face here*  
> I appreciate your patience, honestly, and if you have any suggestions for any of my fics, comment and I'll get back to you.  
> Thanks, darlings <3

_ Soft groans filled the room, drowned out by the blaring music coming from the party downstairs. If someone asked him, Arthur probably couldn’t tell them how he ended up in this situation. One moment he was chatting with the “host” of the party in a quieter corner of the house; next thing he knew they were upstairs in his room, feeling each other up. _

_ Arthur had been talking with this guy for a few days in school--he’d been the one who’d invited him to the party. There had been this look in his eye, like he really wanted Arthur to show up, so Arthur did.  _

_ During the party, a few people came up to him, saying the guy was looking for him. Arthur couldn’t say he wasn’t flattered by the attention. So there he was, moving against a fellow student--practically a stranger--in his room, smelling of booze and weed. _

_ Right as Arthur was really getting into it, a knock at the door startled the two boys. The boy excused himself, saying, “I’ll be right back,” before stumbling out of the room. _

_ Arthur waited, and waited, and waited. Slightly annoyed, he got off the bed, returning to the chaos downstairs, trying to find him. He did. Making out with some girl in the corner they had been standing together just moments ago. _

_ Feeling sick, he turned around, shoving people out of his way, desperately trying to get to the door, the image of the two of them burned into his mind. There was no one trying to stop him, calling out his name, begging him to stay.  _

_ That hurt just as much. _

Fucking Francis. Arthur was getting more and more annoyed with him as the seconds passed. He was going to explode sooner or later, and he had a feeling it was going to be really soon. Just a few minutes later, he snapped.

“You fucking blue-shelled me right before the finish line?!” he exclaimed, flailing his arms in the air, exasperated. He slouched further into the couch, grumbling.

Francis laughed. “It’s part of the game, non?”

“Fuck you.”

“Huh, I didn’t think it would go that way, but if that’s what you want,” he smirked.

Arthur’s face burned. “You know that’s not what I meant!”

Francis laughed again, pulling Arthur into his side and kissing the top of his head as the Brit grumbled. That was something he hadn’t been expecting when they had started this “friends with benefits” thing; all the affection Francis showed all. The. Time. He only chilled out at school, but he was still always at Arthur’s side. Arthur didn’t exactly mind, he just wasn’t used to it. He was slowly warming up to it, though. Slowly.

Arthur relaxed against Francis, if only slightly. Francis didn’t move away. Neither did Arthur.

“Did you want to go out for dinner tonight? My treat.” Francis offered, shifting so he could look at more of Arthur’s face. He said it so casually, it took Arthur a moment to catch what he may actually be intending.

“We said no dates,” Arthur replied, looking up to meet his gaze, still not moving from Francis’ side. 

“I wasn’t implying a date,” he said. “If you don’t want to, you can tell me.”

Arthur sighed. Francis was way too good at puppy eyes. Arthur was lucky he didn’t use them more often. “Where were you thinking of going?”

“My parents just opened up a new restaurant in town. They always give me deals,” Francis grinned, and Arthur would never admit how sexy Francis looked.

“Just let me stop by at my place first so I can change.” The two boys were still both in their school uniforms, and there was no way in hell that Arthur was going out in it this late into the day.

“I’ll change now, then,” Francis said, giving Arthur a smile and one last peck on the forehead before getting off the couch and walking over to his closet. Arthur already knew that it was a massive walk-in, all the clothes organized by style and then those sections organized by colour. Francis stepped out a few minutes later, dressed in spotless white pants and a navy silk button up with the first few buttons left undone. His brown belt looked brand new, as did his matching dress shoes. 

Arthur gulped. Fuck, Francis really knew how to dress to impress. He should be a model or something. 

When the two boys got to Arthur’s house, he realized Francis had never been in there before. Luckily his parents weren’t home. Again.

“You can come in,” Arthur said, unbuckling his seat belt and hopping out of the car. Francis seemed to hesitate, but Arthur didn’t notice, too preoccupied thinking about what to wear. Clearly it was a formal restaurant, so Arthur would have to find something classy. 

He bee-lined it to his room, thankful that he had hidden the bottle of scotch underneath his bed. The bed that Francis was currently sitting on, watching Arthur go through his clothes. Arthur settled on black slacks with a black belt, a pale green button up, and black dress shoes. He heard Francis chuckle softly when he went over to his jewelry box to pick out different earrings.

“What?” he said, choosing some jewel encrusted silver hoop for his daith and a slightly less eye catching one for his helix. The lobe piercings stayed with small diamond studs.

“I didn’t realize you were secretly a punk.”

“It was a phase I don’t regret,” Arthur said, putting in his jewellery. “I’m actually getting another one soon.”

“Oh? Where will that be?” Francis asked, watching Arthur unbutton his shirt and take it off.

“Naval. I already have the appointment booked--are you just going to keep staring?” Arthur stopped changing, turning and scowling at Francis, who had his eyes glued to the Brit’s naked chest.

“I’m enjoying the view,” Francis replied, eyes flicking up to Arthur’s face before going back to staring at his chest. 

“Well, I’m going to finish changing in the bathroom.” Arthur grinned as Francis groaned in complaint. He grabbed his clothes and left the room, making sure to lock the bathroom door behind him. 

Doing one last look over, Arthur left the bathroom. Francis, who had been sulking, immediately perked up when he saw Arthur. 

“Wooow,” he exclaimed, raising off the bed and making his way to Arthur, wrapping his arms around the boy’s waist. “You look amazing.”

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur said, blushing. Another thing he hadn’t been expecting to happen during this “friends with benefits” thing; the compliments. Francis seemed to always find something to shower Arthur in compliments over. His grades, his appearance, even the way he walked. Though Arthur pretended to be annoyed by it, he secretly loved it. He’d never had someone flatter him so much.

Francis gave him a deep kiss, and it took so much willpower to not shove the Frenchman on the bed and have his way with him. He was hungry after all.

The restaurant looked like every cliche high end restaurant that was featured in a movie, complete with dark floors, chandeliers, and candles placed on all of the cloth-covered tables. But Arthur wasn’t really focused on any of that. He was more occupied with admiring how Francis looked in the soft candlelight. Bloody perfect.

Francis seemed to know everyone here, and briefly spoke to them all. One of the waitresses totally flirted with him, and it pissed Arthur off immensely.  _ Not a date _ , he reminded himself. It didn’t help. The only thing holding him back from losing it at the waitress was Francis’ reaction; it was clear he didn’t like her, and his frequent glances at Arthur while she spoke to him had a seductive undertone. 

They ordered food, and Arthur had the chance to surprise Francis with his french--the look on his face was priceless. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh, causing Francis to blush.

“For someone who seems so distasteful of the french, you’re surprisingly good at our language,” he said, taking a bite of his food.

“I’m not distasteful of the french,” Arthur replied, fighting off a smirk. “I just don’t like you.” He laughed again at Francis’ dramaticized gasp. Arthur swore he’d never forget the way Francis smiled at him, soft and full of what Arthur wished was love, even if he refused to acknowledge it.

Throughout the dinner, Francis kept dropping suggestive comments, not enough to cause extra attention to be brought upon them, but enough for Arthur to have to bite the inside of his lip to prevent him from launching himself over the table and taking Francis then and there. Damn him. Arthur internally swore that he would get Francis for it later.

When the two boys finished their meals, Arthur was quite full. And ready for a drink. Or to push Francis against the nearest wall and kiss him senseless. The Frenchman had gotten him so wound up during dinner that Arthur had to fight off his hard on. 

Francis pulled up into Arthur’s driveway, and once again Arthur offered for him to come inside. There was no hesitation on Francis’ part this time. 

Arthur pulled Francis close the moment they got inside, kissing him hard, tension high. Francis moaned, pushing Arthur against the entry wall, shoving off the light coat Arthur had been wearing.They tumbled their way to Arthur’s bedroom, kissing and groping the entire way up the stairs and through the hallways. 

Once they got to Arthur’s bedroom, he kicked the door shut, hands too occupied with undoing Francis’ shirt. Francis held him by the shoulders, pulling him gently towards the bed, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice how close they were to it until Francis suddenly gave him a huge hug, throwing them back onto the bed.

Arthur yelled, smacking his forehead against Francis’ collarbone. “You suck,” he grumbled, taking advantage of their position to tuck his head into the crook of Francis’ neck. 

“If you’d like me to,” he replied. Arthur shot up, looking at Francis. His expression must have been hilarious, because Francis burst out laughing, bringing one hand up to cover his own face. “Mon Dieu,” he wheezed. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, moving off of Francis, moment ruined. Without thinking, he began to reach underneath his bed for the rum--he’d finished the scotch. He stopped himself, remembering that he wasn’t alone. He jolted back up, like someone had shocked him. 

“Arthur,” Francis asked. The bed creaked slightly as Francis shifted to be closer to Arthur, wrapping his arms around his waist, pulling them closer together. When he didn’t reply, Francis continued. “Were you reaching for the bottle?”

Arthur masked his emotions, feeling his anxiety rise. “Bottle?” he asked, turning to face Francis.

Francis looked down, bashful. “I saw it under your bed when you went to change.”

Arthur lost his composure. “You went through my shit?” he exclaimed, anger rising. 

“I didn’t ‘go through’, it--I remembered you had said before that you’d had a drink and I figured if you wanted to hide it, that it would be under your bed,” Francis explained.

He moved to get away from Francis, feeling his heart crack when Francis let him go. He got off the bed, storming over to the large window, refusing to turn around and look at Francis. 

After a few tense moments, Arthur heard the bed creak again, then soft footsteps, then felt arms wrapping around his mid-drift. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking his head down into Arthur’s boney shoulders. Arthur didn’t answer, still pissed off. He wanted to reach out, to say it was fine, but he had too much pride. Francis seemed to realize this, and retracted himself. Arthur’s mind was racing, and it wasn’t until he heard footsteps going down the stairs that he realized Francis was… Francis was…  _ leaving _ . Not on his fucking watch.

Arthur whipped himself out of the room, practically flying down the stairs right as Francis was heading out the door. 

“Francis,” he yelled. The other boy stopped, halfway out the door. He turned to look back at Arthur, and his expression broke the Brit’s heart. He looked so miserable, and it was Arthur’s fault. He became choked up, shivers wracking down his body and his stomach flipping. “I, uhh,” he couldn’t seem to form words, and Francis was still halfway out the door. He looked up, finally meeting Francis’ gaze. “You want a drink?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> So this chapter is, like, mostly smut. However, there is still small key points--and one big one at the end--that would be worth knowing. That being said, I wouldn't recommend skipping this chapter, but it might be nice for the non-smut readers to skip the mid-section of this.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

This was a mistake. Arthur knew it was the second Francis had taken him up on his drink offer. He’d walked by Arthur’s side back upstairs silently, like a scolded puppy. Arthur felt bad--he’d definitely overreacted, but he couldn’t help getting defensive. 

Soon, however, all thoughts were forgotten as both boys sipped their rum. It was clear Francis was not used to drinking rum--at the beginning he was fighting off scrunched up faces and failing. Arthur had laughed at him, which Francis said he’d get him for later. Arthur had held his breath in anticipation, hoping he had meant that the way Arthur had taken it.

Francis had tapped out after two drinks. He couldn’t finish the third without getting too drunk, so Arthur sipped it, petting Francis’ hair as said boy laid across his lap, buzzed and content. Arthur was sitting up, back pressed against his head board while he looked into Francis’ eyes, listening to him ramble about different things he and his chaotic friends did. 

“So, how did you meet them,” Arthur asked, genuinely confused, “if they live in America?”

“Only one lives in America,” Francis explained. “We met when I went to visit America--my family goes every summer to check on the businesses down there. I brought my other friend with us when we went.”

“So, which one lives in America?” Arthur asked.

“Gilbert,” Francis replied. “He’s the German one with the younger brother.”

“Right, and Antonio is from Spain?” Francis nodded in confirmation. “Does he live in England?”

“Not currently, he’s back in Spain for now. He’s been guaranteed a place at a university in America already, so he’ll be leaving as soon as he graduates.” Francis sounded sad, and it pained Arthur. Maybe this wasn’t the best thing to talk about.

The Brit set his drink down on his nightstand before tapping Francis’ shoulder, signaling for him to get up. He did, and Arthur quickly chased him with kisses. He peppered them all over Francis’ face in an effort to cheer him up, making the Frenchman laugh softly. He caught Arthur’s face in his soft hands, french-kissing the hell out of him. 

Arthur swung a leg over him, settling into his lap and settling his hands on Francis’ buttoned-up shirt. He must’ve done it back up when Arthur left the bed earlier. As their tongues danced together, Arthur undid the buttons slowly, letting his fingers teasingly graze over Francis’ chest. When he was done, he pushed the shirt off of his shoulders as Francis pushed him down onto the bed. He grinded down on the Brit, and Arthur let out a gasped moan.

“Bloody hell, Francis,” he breathed. He heard Francis’ low chuckle as he did it again. Arthur wrapped his legs around Francis’ waist, pulling him down harder, creating a beautiful, addictive friction.

The Frenchman seemed to glow above him in the pale light of the lamp. His eyes looked mystical. His golden locks cascaded over his shoulders, looking soft and weightless. Arthur ran his fingers through them, relishing in how it easily slipped through his fingers. He grabbed a fistful from the back and pulled. Francis moaned loudly, hips stuttering. 

“Got a weak spot, do you?” Arthur whispered in his ear before flipping them over, never letting go of his hair. He pulled again, and Francis bucked his hips up this time, desperately searching for friction. 

Arthur yelped when he received a harsh slap to the ass. “That’s for laughing at me earlier,” Francis grinned.

“I hold no regrets, it was hilarious,” Arthur said back. Francis grinned even wider before smacking Arthur’s ass even harder. “Fucking hell,  _ Francis! _ ” he moaned unashamed.

“Seems I’m not the only one with a kink,” he sneered. Athur gulped with anticipation and excitement. He was in for it now.

They spent the next hour like that, rolling around Arthur’s bed grinding, pulling hair, and spanking. They were both moaning loudly, which only turned them on more. Somehow Francis had ended up behind Arthur, pushing him down onto the bed, one hand snaked around his waist and palming him forcefully through his slacks. Eventually, Arthur gasped out, “Francis, I’m c-close.”

“Do it, mon chèr,” Francis whispered in his ear, breath hot against Arthurs skin. “Finish for me,” he growled, grinding particularly hard against Arthur’s ass.

Well, he didn’t need any more comformation than that. Arthur spilled into his boxers, dampening them and his trousers while letting out a loud moan. From the sound of it, Francis followed in pursuit.

Francis slumped onto Arthur fully, breathing heavily. “That was good.”

“It was,” Arthur replied. “Now get off. I need to get out of these sticky boxers.”

“But I’m cozy,” Francis whined. 

“Come on,” Arthur insisted. “I’ll get you a set of pyjamas, too. It’s late and we’ve got school tomorrow.”

Francis groaned, relenting and rolling off of Arthur. “I forgot about school.”

Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle at his childish disappointment. “Look on the bright side--at least it’ll be Friday.”

“Maybe we could do something after school again,” Francis said, watching Arthur go over to his drawers. “You could come over to my place and we could get takeout.”

Arthur really liked the idea of that. “I do have work to do, Francis,” he found himself saying instead. 

“Then do it at my place.”

Arthur laughed. “Right, because working at your place turned out so well last time.”

Francis smirked, rising off of the bed and walking towards Arthur. “It did. Don’t forget I got 100% on that essay thanks to your cute ass.” Arthur yelped when he felt Francis grope his ass, turning around and smacking him in the bicep.

“Hands off, Frog!” he exclaimed. “Or I’ll make you sleep on the couch downstairs.”

  
“But how am I supposed to keep my hands to myself when I know that you’ve got such a sweet ass hiding under those trousers?” Francis whispered hotly in his ear, reaching around him and squeezing his ass again. Arthur wanted to give in, just let Francis have his way, but the alcohol was settling in, making him tired, and he was already tired from his recent orgasm.

“Francis,” he whined, pushing lightly on said boys’ chest.

“Fine,” he relented, letting go of Arthur’s ass. Arthur rolled his eyes fondly, then passed Francis some pyjamas. The two boys went to separate bathrooms--Arthur going downstairs and Francis staying upstairs--cleaning the remnants of their grinding session and slipping into Arthur’s comfy pyjamas.

Francis was already waiting for Arthur in bed when the Brit got back to his room. His heart swelled at the sight, the fluttering in his stomach nearly unbearable. Then Francis smiled at him, warm and kind, and Arthur knew--he just  _ knew _ he was fucked. He was so undoubtedly fucked, because even though he had tried with all of his might, he’d still done it.

He’d still fallen in love with Francis Bonnefoy.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Here's some more plot! Please forgive me for the sins of the previous chapter, hahah.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

If just the sight of Francis waiting for Arthur in bed wasn’t enough to confirm the pounding in the Brit’s chest, falling asleep with his head on Francis’ chest was. Before he’d even had a say, the Frenchman had pulled him in, pressing their bodies impossibly close. He fell asleep promptly afterwards. And if that still wasn’t enough to break through Arthur’s denial, waking up the same way, while Francis ran his fingers through his hair, was. Sitting on a barstool while Francis buzzed around the kitchen making breakfast was even more proof.

This terrified Arthur to no end. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! The plan was to mess around, be fools, but remain friends and only friends. When had this happened? Or had it always been that way and Arthur was just too scared to admit otherwise? He didn’t want to think about it, quite honestly all he wanted was a drink.

Instead Arthur found himself in a car, dressed in his spare school uniform, on his way to Francis’ to pick up their stuff they’d left behind the day before.

“I’ll be right back,” Francis had said, running into the mansion to grab their stuff quickly so they wouldn’t be late for school. Arthur waited in the car, bored, until Francis came back, dressed in uniform and carrying their bags.

He got in, handing Arthur his bag and throwing his own into the back seat carelessly. For someone so graceful, he really didn’t give a fuck about where he threw things. Thankfully, he did seem to give a fuck about his driving. They cruised to school, still making it with plenty of time before classes started. Arthur was glad--he didn’t like to be rushed. 

They walked into school, bickering lightly back and forth down the hallway. It almost felt like things were normal--like Arthur didn’t have a huge-ass crush on Francis, even though he did. The two boys killed time by wandering through the school. It was all swell, until it wasn’t.

It started by someone yelling from across the hallway, getting Arthur and Francis’ attention. They stopped in their tracks, turning to see who was yelling.

“Hey, Arthur,” they said cockily. 

Oh _ , shit _ . No. No, no, no, no, no. This was bad. He wanted to run, to melt into a little puddle and disappear. Nothing good could come of this.

“Hey,” he replied, desperately trying to mask his anxiety. 

The boy opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, seeming to notice Francis for the first time. He was standing right infront of Francis, about an inch or so taller than him. “I don’t believe we’ve met--are you Arthur’s… boyfriend?”

Francis raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise, then smiled a kilowatt smile. “Oh, non, I’m just his friend.”

“Oh, good,” the guy said, turning away from him like he didn’t matter. “So, Arthur,” he started, eyeing said Brit up and down. “I was thinking you and I could hang. My parents are gone all weekend out of town. We could…  _ catch up _ .”

Arthur had to swallow, feeling like his breakfast was threatening to resurface. “Uh, sorry, I can’t. I have plans this weekend already.”

“Aw, come on,” the guy said, stepping closer to him. Too close. Arthur fought the urge to take several steps back. “Surely you could spare some time.”

Arthur squared his shoulders, looking the boy straight in the eyes. “I’m busy this weekend,” he repeated, voice firm. “So, no, thank you.”

The boys took a step back, seemingly baffled. Arthur didn’t show how smug it made him feel. “Another time, then,” he said, then walked away quickly back to his group of friends. 

Francis took Arthur by the elbow--which made him jump a bit--and steered him away into another hall, tucking them underneath the stairs. They were out of earshot and out of sight.

“Are you alright?” Francis asked, taking him by the shoulders gently. He seemed genuinely concerned. It comforted Arthur, but hurt him, too. He wished that Francis would look at him like that, sapphire eyes wide with emotion, because he really did care about Arthur, not just because he could get pleasure from him. This crush was so one sided it pained Arthur--knocked his breath out of his lungs and left him dizzy.

“I’m alright,” he mumbled, avoiding Francis’ eyes. 

Francis huffed, letting his hands drop and looking around the staircase like he was trying to throw daggers with his eyes. “Who even was he? And why was he coming onto you so strongly?” He almost sounded jealous, but that couldn’t be right. He was just mad because… because… well, Arthur was sure he had his own reasons to be mad. Probably from how that guy didn’t seem to give a shit about him. Yeah, that was it.

“Um, well,” Arhtur started. Francis’ full gaze was on him now. It made him feel jittery, like he had to explain this to him. “He invited me to a party in September--ya know, for the new school year. At the party we talked for a while and then we… we messed around a bit in what I assumed was his room. Someone came by and knocked at the door, so he left to answer it. When he didn’t come back for a while, I left to go find him, but…” Arthur took a deep breath, settling his stomach knots. “He was already making out with some girl downstairs.”

When Arthur finally looked up from the dirty tiled floor, he saw the look of utter shock and repulsion on Francis' face. For a moment he thought it was directed at him, but he quickly realised it wasn’t.

“What?!” Francis yelled. Arthur hushed him, then stepped out into the hall to make sure no one was coming. It was completely empty. He walked back over to Francis.

“Keep, it down, would ya?” he hissed. “I don’t need the entire school knowing about my terrible taste in guys!”

“So he’s not the only guy to have done this?” Francis seemed absolutely disgusted by the behaviour. Arthur found it almost endearing. He shook his head, and Francis looked like he was ready to drop. “Have you… have they just used you for sex?” Arthur didn’t trust that his voice wouldn’t break, so he nodded instead. “What the hell?!” Francis whispered harshly.

“Francis,  _ you’re _ using me for sex,” Arthur pointed out, trying to stifle his laughter.

Francis blubbered for a moment, the perfect image of a fish out of water. Or a frog out of water for too long. Eventually he got his words together. “Not like that, though. I have no intention of just fucking off or giving you false ideas. We made our relationship status clear to both of us, and consented. Besides,” he huffed, “we’re still friends at the very least.”

Though some of his wording was blunt and a tad bit harsh, yet that last sentence still gave Arthur some sense of hope.  _ Friends at the very least _ . Did that mean they could ever be more? Arthur didn’t even want to let himself think that far. No use getting himself hurt over “false ideas”.

The bell rang before he could dwell on it any further. “Ah, crap,'' Francis muttered, looking up to the ceiling even though there wasn’t an actual bell. Maybe there were real bells back in France. “I’ve gotta get to class. I’ll see you after.” Francis gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and then he was off, blending in with the students who were now piling into the halls, taking Arthur’s breath with him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!  
> Holy crap, does school need to kick my ass so hard? *insert slightly pained face here lmao*  
> Any who, here's some more content for you guys to enjoy.  
> Stay safe everyone!!  
> Thanks, darlings <3

Arthur didn’t know how long he could take this thing he had, yet didn’t have, with Francis. He’d been used so many times; his heart was fractured to bits. Francis soothed it, like putting cold aloe on a sunburn. Yet at the same time, he was tearing it to pieces with every kind word, every gesture. Arthur wanted more, and he knew he could never have it. His brain was telling him to get out of the situation; gather up his last remaining shreds of dignity and escape. But his heart longed for Francis so much it hurt. It reminded Arthur of a quote he read somewhere before:

“How frustrated we get with the ones we love. We shove our hopes and thoughts down their throats hoping they swallow our passion. The unnecessary traction creates friction and fire, the perfect contradiction to the passion we desire.”

Arthur could never risk fathoming, even for a moment, that Francis would feel the same passion of love that Arthur felt, disregarding every time Arthur gave himself up to Francis physically. He burned for his  _ friend _ , feeling his heart stretch across London, likely lying by Francis’ side as he no doubtedly slept peacefully, leaving Arthur to toss and turn. 

Just when Arthur felt like he couldn’t take anything anymore, he fell back into his toxic routine. He arose from his bed, staying quiet even though there was no point since he was, once again, alone. Carefully, he sat down at his dresser, lifting the lid of his jewellery box before pulling down the hidden compartment on the top. It was small, disguised by the patterns in the deep forest green cushioning. It was likely made to hide only the most valuable of items, which most people wouldn’t even own, and Arthur used it for such purposes--though his idea of “valuable items” was twisted. 

With slightly shaking hands, he took out the small blade that he had long ago removed from a razor. Pulling down the side of his boxers, Arthur exposed his prominent hip bone to the cool air of his bedroom. 

He took a deep breath in, then pressed the blade to his skin.

It hurt him, but he relished in the pain, letting it ground him to reality whilst simultaneously alleviating him from the tragedy that was himself. The booze in his system helped with the pain. He could worry about nothing for once, focusing on the stinging of the opening wound. He made several more, revelling in the stinging euphoria as he added more marks to his collection of scars.

He was at war with himself, and the battle was getting bloodier with the passing days. Arthur just prayed he’d be the only witness.

Francis had dropped by unexpectedly, right as Arthur was dressing. He’d picked at the scabs that had formed overnight while he was in the shower, making it bleed all over again. He’d pressed a towel to it until the bleeding stopped, which took longer than usual. He may have been a bit heavy handed the previous night. He blamed the booze.

He’d cried in the shower, and prayed that Francis couldn’t tell. He’d debated pretending he wasn’t home, but Francis wasn’t that easily fooled. 

Reluctantly, Arthur let him in after dressing quickly in a pair of black ripped jeans and a maroon t-shirt.

“You look lovely, mon cher,” he said, toeing off his shoes and giving Arthur a kiss to the forehead. “What’s the occasion?”

“My piercing appointment,” he said, practically dismissing Francis and going back upstairs to finish getting ready. Unperturbed, the Frenchman followed the Brit. 

“I didn’t realise that was today,” he replied. As soon as he stepped into Arthur’s room, he plopped himself onto the bed, snuggling in. He may not seem like it, but Francis was a cuddle-bug. He was always wrapping an arm around Arthur when no one was around, curling into him when he knew they’d be alone. 

Arthur preoccupied himself with the task of finding jewellery, only to realise he’d left the--literally--bloody blade on his desk, out in the open. Swiftly, he scooped it, placing it back into his jewellery box’s secret compartment, playing it off like nothing was wrong, but sweating from the paranoia that Francis had seen it. He hadn’t said anything, so Arthur assumed he was in the clear.

Francis came up behind him, holding onto Arthur hips gently, causing Arthur to hiss in pain. Francis let go immediately, but Arthur grabbed his hands and pulled them around his midsection, relishing in the warmth against his back.

“You just startled me,” he lied, feeling Francis relax and hold him tighter.

After a few moments, Francis broke the silence. “You should eat before your appointment, mon cher. You don’t want to faint.”

Arthur hummed in agreement, and let go of Francis’ hands, but Francis moved, taking one of his hands and spinning him around. Always the romantic.  _ If only this was a romance _ , Arthur couldn’t help but think. 

“I’ll drive you to your appointment; we can get food on the way,” he said, giving Arthur a smile, but it seemed sad. Arthur figured he had been hoping for  _ something else _ , and shrugged it off. He was slightly surprised that Francis didn’t try to do anything. There were no wandering hands, ass groping, and passionate kisses. Only soft kisses placed on his cheek here and there, hand holding as they walked to the car, and the softest of touches that had Arthur urging to lean in for more contact (though he wouldn’t allow himself to).

The two boys were quite early, so Francis suggested that they go to that cafe they had gone to the second day they hung out. It seemed like so long ago. It was crazy to think that Francis and Arthur had grown so close in such a small amount of time--Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he opened up to someone.

The two boys sat opposite each other at the table, drinking their coffees and chatting. Arthur couldn’t help but realise that Francis seemed completely off. He figured it was because of his little confession about all his “relationships” never working out. Eventually, he couldn’t put it off anymore, and addressed the tension.

“You’re distracted,” he said. “Is it because of yesterday?”

“Pardon?” Francis asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. How did every face he made look perfect, no matter how dumb it was? 

“The…” Arthur lowered his voice, eyes skimming around the cafe before settling on his cup of half-drunk coffee and the sweet pastry beside it. “With the dude yesterday, from the party?”

Francis blinked a couple times before leaning forward, resting an arm on the table. “No, mon amore, it’s not that--well, not  _ him _ .” Francis sipped his drink and took a deep breath as Arthur waited patiently for him to continue. “I just don’t like the thought of someone hurting you like that,” he said quietly, so quiet Arthur had barely heard him, physically having to lean forward to catch the end of his phrase. His eyes were filled with sorrow, with a bittersweet smile on his gorgeous lips. “You’re so kind to everyone--don’t even deny it,” Francis continued, cutting off Arthur who was about to deny exactly that, taking his hands over the table. “You are, and you always listen to people, like when I ranted about how I missed my friends. You give out more than you get back, and that’s not okay.”

Arthur was stunned. No one had ever said that to him. Francis… Jeez, he was about to get misty eyed from the words. Okay, maybe more than misty eyed. Shit, he was crying in the cafe. 

Francis was quick to react, getting up from his seat and walking to Arthur’s side of the table, letting go of his hands so he could hug the crying Brit. Arthur didn’t bother to fight him off, letting Francis take his slim body into his strong arms, turning his head into the other boy’s chest, taking deep breaths to calm himself as Francis rubbed his back, speaking soothing words into his messy hair.

After a moment, Arthur calmed down (he was lucky he didn’t go into full breakdown mode, and that the cafe was mostly empty) and let go of Francis’ shirt he, apparently, had been clutching. 

“My apologies,” he said, forcing strength into his voice so he didn’t seem so helpless. “I don’t know what came over me.” A lie. How many times would he lie to Francis? How many times would Francis believe his lies? How many lies would it take until Francis decided he wanted nothing to do with him?

Francis gave him a smile, and, once again, he looked so sad. Borderline disappointed. “That’s alright, mon cher. Don’t worry about it.”

Arthur finished the rest of his coffee much quicker after that, eager to get out of the now stuffy-feeling cafe. Francis didn’t comment on it, though Arthur was sure he noticed, since he kept glancing at Arthur’s diminishing coffee, and trying to match his drink to the same level.

By the time they left for Arthur’s appointment, his previous excitement about his piercing had returned. While in the car, Francis asked him more about piercings, as well as how to get to the shop, smiling contently as Arthur rambled, like he wanted nothing more than to listen to Arthur talk about a topic that made him happy. 

Somehow, their mostly one-sided conversation turned into a psychology discussion, which Arthur knew a lot about. 

“Do you know what you’re doing after high school?” Francis asked him.

Arthur’s excitement spark went out as he answered, voice going dull. “I’m going into business.”

Francis shook his head slightly, carefully parallel parking the car in front of the shop. “Ridiculous,” he deadpanned. “You should go into psychology, become a counsellor. Help people who need someone to listen to them.”

Arthur laughed a dry, sarcastic laugh. “Me? Help people? Why on earth would I do that?”

Francis cut the ignition and turned to look at Arthur as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Because, you’d be good at it.” He exited the car, leaving Arthur stunned in his seat. He would… be good at helping people? He could help people. Listen, and… make them hurt less. If only there was someone to help him, make him feel less pain. He watched as Francis walked over to his side of the car, opening the door. If only there was someone… 

Arthur unbuckled his seatbelt, stepping out of the car, letting Francis shut the door. “Chivalry isn’t dead,” he joked, grinning at Francis. That made him genuinely laugh, and Arthur allowed himself a moment to bask in the warmth that laugh gave off. It was magic.

Francis looked out of place in that tattoo shop, like a kitten in a wine glass; probably uncomfortable, probably shouldn’t be there, no one really knows why the kitten went into the cup in the first place, and fucking hilarious to watch. Arthur had to hold back laughter as he watched the frenchman gaze about the room, hands stuck in his pockets. He had this confused look on his face, like he’d never seen anything like it before. He probably hadn’t, Arthur then realised, looking at Francis’ lack of piercings.

Arthur glided his way to stand by Francis’ side as the boy looked into the glass displays by the counter with unmasked curiosity. 

“Interested?” he asked.

Francis immediately backed up from the displays, shocked and stammering. “No! I mean… my parents would be furious!” he whispered harshly, looking around the room like they would appear any second. “It’s hardly classy.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh at his unreasonable panic. “Francis, you literally have a fuck buddy relationship. Your parents would flip if they ever found that out, and you’re worried over a little piercing?” Arthur laughed again as Francis’ face paled at the thought of his parents discovering what he’d been up to with Arthur. It was comical. He was the same shade as Casper the Friendly Ghost.

Francis blushed at Arthur’s amusement, both glad and embarrassed at it. “I’m glad my fear is so amusing to you,” he grumbled, pouting. It made him look adorable, even though he looked like an adult already with his constant five o’clock shadow.

“It’s hilarious,” Arthur chuckled, and he couldn’t hold himself back from giving Francis a quick peck on the forehead.

Before Francis could reply, a staff member came into the lobby. “Hey, Arthur!” he grinned. He had longish black hair, dark eyes, and tattoos covering his arms. The silver hoop in his nose glinted in the ceiling lights, and his stretchers made him seemingly intimidating, even though he was just a tad bit bigger than Arthur. “Who’ve you got there with you?”

Arthur took a step back, saying, “This is Francis, a friend of mine. He just moved here from France a few months ago. Francis, this is Patrick, the chap who does my piercings.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Francis,” Patrick said, smiling.

“Likewise,” Francis said confidently, though Arthur could tell he was nervous. His blinking had picked up in frequency, and Arthur could practically feel the tightening in his chest as if it were his own. 

“Is everything ready?” he asked, eager to get this going, and to make Francis more comfortable by getting him out of here.

Patrick laughed. “Oh, Arthur. Always so straight to the point.” He stopped leaning on the counter, moving to the back room. “Come along, then.”

When he left, Arthur turned to Francis and gave him a quick kiss. “Wait here, I’ll be back,” he said, then dashed into the room, excited as hell.

The appointment ran pretty smoothly. When Arthur had come back out, Francis had practically pounced on him, making sure he was okay. It was endearing--it almost made Arthur believe that he actually cared for him, and not just his body.

When they got out of the shop after Arthur paid, he immediately started to shiver. It had cooled down considerably, a cold, brisk wind sweeping trash and leaves down the street. The two boys rushed to the car. Francis turned on the heat.

“We should’ve brought coats,” he said, starting to drive away.

“Yeah, really,” Arthur said, turning the seat heater on. “Here, let me.” He reached across Francis’ lap, letting his finger tips barely brush against Francis’ crotch as he turned on his seat warmer, too. He sat back into his seat, buckling his seat belt.

“My place or your’s?” he asked. 

“Your’s,” Arthur answered, giddy. He really wanted to roll around in Francis’ large bed right then and just forget his problems.

Clearly Francis was in the same mindset, since he pushed the speed limit all the way back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!  
> So this chapter is really short, but also really special. Hopefully you like this twist in perspective.  
> I will have another chapter out soon (hopefully).   
> Thanks, darlings <3

_ It started with the day he showed up hungover to school. That was the first sign that there was possibly something seriously wrong with Arthur. I chalked up the incident using his lie to sooth my worries. But then I found the bottle under his bed. The second sign. I was stunned, so much so that I had completely fucked up and brought it up to him. It made sense that he got so defensive; I had technically snooped where I didn’t belong. But when I apologized and he didn’t accept it, I could feel my soul dim. I left, not knowing what else to do, thinking he didn’t want anything to do with me anymore. I wouldn’t want anything to do with me, that’s for sure.  _

_ But he’d come after me, asked me to have a drink with him. To  _ stay _. And if there was something wrong, there was no way I could leave him after that.  _

_ So I stayed. Though I had initially intended to let him do that talking, I ended up babbling about how I missed my friends. But Arthur didn’t seem to mind. When he’d stroked his fingers through my hair… I swear I’d never been more relaxed. That’s how it was with Arthur. He just let me calm down, stop the charming and the smiles. He never judged how I felt. Arthur was the first person outside of Antonio and Gilbert to actually listen to me and take me seriously. _

_ How could I not fall for that? _

_ But as the weeks passed after that, I started to gather more clues about Arthur’s possible issue. He would have some days where he would be extremely irritable, but then I would see him the next day, and he’d be back to himself. Or, at least back to the facade he put on. And, sure, that seemed to be a normal thing with people, but there was more. Some days he’d come back, and his eyes would be rimmed red and slightly swollen, like he’d been crying. And once I could have sworn I smelled alcohol on his breath during math class. Arthur would lose focus in class, or in conversation, and have this look in his eye like he was far away, in some distant land in his mind, and it wasn’t a pleasant place. _

_ It only got worse when I found out about his dating history, if one could even call it that. People were so rude to him, took advantage of his emotions so much--it was no wonder he didn’t trust me at the start. He’d only ever been lied to before, and my actions seemed suspicious at best. It also gave him a reasoning behind drinking, but he hadn’t ever brought it up before… _

_ Arthur confused me. He was an anomaly--a code I couldn’t decipher. But I wanted to try. I wanted to help. Even if it meant putting my feelings on hold. I would do whatever it took to make Arthur feel loved, because I did love him, even though he clearly didn’t love me. _

_ He could use me for whatever he wanted; reasons to go out, an excuse to get out of plan offerings--hell, he could even use my body. I wouldn’t care. As long as he was happy.  _

_ And Arthur was so far from happy. _


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Here is another chapter for all of our sleep deprived souls. I'll try to post more frequently, but I have a lot of work piling up because holidays are approaching, so please be patient with me :))))
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

Winter came too soon, and the chill didn’t just sit around in the environment. It crept into Arthur’s bones, his  _ soul _ , making him ache for the warmth of Francis. Of family.

It was soon to be Christmas, and by the looks of it, Arthur would be alone again. He’d had the chance to go over to America to be with his extended family (his aunt, her husband, and her two children) but he always felt awkward when he went. There was a tension between him and one of her kids that Arthur could never seem to fix, and last time he was there, he’d made it a hell of a lot worse. Also, they weren’t who Arthur was hoping to see. 

He wanted to see his parents--to finally get to spend a Christmas together under one roof when they weren’t jet lagged or going out to parties and leaving Arthur by himself. He didn’t want to suffer through seeing his aunt show her love and affection to her children, or to feel the pang of longing for his own mother once his aunt was motherly to him. She knew that his parents weren’t around a whole lot, and tried to make it better by replacing them. But it didn’t help. If anything it made his heart hurt more. That, and he couldn’t drink over in America.

Maybe choosing alcohol over his extended family was wrong, but at this point Arthur didn’t care. The drinks soothed him more than anyone else had. Well, except for maybe one person… 

But Francis was likely going to be with his family. They’d go on some trip together, or something. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t see Francis for the whole break. The thought broke his heart, though he didn’t think he’d ever be willing to admit it, nor would he get the chance.

But Christmas eve came with some special surprises for Arthur. One being a call from Francis in the later hours of the morning, while Arthur was still in bed taking his sweet time getting over the stinging on his hips and the pounding in his head. 

“Hello?” Arthur asked, wincing at the pain, and how groggy his voice sounded.

“Arthur!” Francis almost yelled, sounding suspiciously happy. “Guess what.”

“Just tell me,” Arthur groaned, rolling in his bed and grabbing the Advil he had left on his nightside table, knowing he’d need it. It wasn’t the worst hangover of his life by any means, but it was nicer to go without the pain.

“Antonio and Gilbert are here!” Francis screamed, causing Arthur to jerk the phone away from his ear. 

“Lovely,” he deadpanned, swallowing the pills with the last bit of water that was in his bedside glass. Just what he wanted to hear. Arthur felt guilt so strong that it made him naseious (or was that the hangover?) because he knew he should be happy that his… that Francis was getting to see his friends, who he had missed terribly. But all Arthur could think was how that meant they definitely weren’t going to be seeing each other. More drinking time for Arthur, he guessed.

“I know, right? They’re here the whole break because my parents had to go away and felt bad leaving me on my own, so they flew Toni and Gil over.” Arthur’s heart was cracking more and more at every word. The parents caring; the friends supporting; Francis’ joy about other people… It was too much. Arthur didn’t want to listen anymore.

“That’s awesome, Francis. I’m glad you’re having fun, but I gotta go so--”

“Wait,” Francis interrupted. Arthur took a deep breath, waiting for whatever words Francis would say to shatter his heart completely. “Before you go… are you free during this break?”

“Yes,” Arthur answered without thinking, and wanting to kick himself in the bum for it. 

“Great,” Francis cheered. “Get ready, because we’re coming over to pick you up. See you soon!” He hung up, leaving Arthur stunned. The Brit knew that it would be futile to try and stop Francis now. He’d better sober up quickly.

Francis had showed up with two ridiculously good looking guys who Arthur could only guess were the esteemed Antonio and Gilbert. 

One was tan, with messy, wavy, medium brown hair and the most kind eyes Arthur had ever seen. They were astonishingly green, like the rolling fields of the countryside. His smile was blinding, so bright it almost hurt to look at. This guy was taller than both Francis and the other guy, but dressed overall simpler than them; his khaki-coloured, three-quarter length sleeves still showed off his gorgeous build, and the way it was tucked into his black jeans drew the eye to how lovely his hips and ass were. 

But there was more to him if one looked closely. He fiddled with his many bracelets, and didn’t seem to actually hold eye contact with Arthur when he said hello. As a matter of fact, he looked around a lot, like he was expecting someone to jump out at him. He shifted his weight quite frequently, and Arthur didn’t miss the way he took an extra deep breath now and then. What was he so nervous about? Someone had clearly done something to him, but what?

He must be Antonio.

The other guy was Anotnio’s opposite. Still taller than Arthur, he was even bigger than Antonio, though he lacked any fat. He made for it with muscle. His skin was nearly as white as Francis’ teeth, and his straight, short hair looked like a sheet of freshly fallen snow. His pointed nose really added to the whole “jack Frost” look, but his eyes… They reminded Arthur of a book he’d read by Stephen King, “Red Matter”. It had been an excellent book, though quiet mind boggling. Arthur had a feeling this guy would be the same. 

His back was rod-straight, and his feet perfectly placed in “at ease” stance. Arthur knew he was the same age as him, but the eyebags present on him made him seem older. Like Antonio, he looked around a lot, like he was suspicious of everything, but he was more analytical. He actually took things in from his surroundings. The guy had a dangerous vibe to him, like he could and would beat someone to a pulp in an instant if he thought it was justified. Or not. It gave Arthur the chills, and not in a good way. Obviously he’d been protecting someone or something for so long it was ingrained in him. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what.

This was Gilbert, for sure.

All of this analysis was done in the fraction of a second it took for Arthur to greet them at the door and shake their hands. He let them, and Francis, who had given him a giant hug that made Gilbert snicker and elbow Antonio who chuckled a bit, inside the house. 

“Where are your bags?” Francis asked, completely puzzled. Arthur raised his eyebrows at him.

“Why would I need bags?” he asked.

“I said to get ready!” Francis exclaimed, and before Arthur could stop him, Francis was up the stairs, yelling about packing or something.

The other three waited for a moment before Arthur sighed, turning to them. “May as well follow him,” he said, and raced up the stairs before Francis would completely destroy his room.

Somehow, Francis had gotten Arthur’s suitcase, which had been stuffed away in the back of his closet, and had promptly begun to fill it with clothes.

“Francis,” Antonio scolded. Ah, so he was the mother hen of the group. “You can’t just take Mr. Kirkland’s things.”

“‘Arthur’ is quite alright,” Arthur said gently, giving Antonio a polite smile. He nodded, and Arthur didn’t miss the way he immediately put his head down like a scolded dog. And he didn’t miss how Gilbert moved closer to Antonio’s side. “And he’s right, Francis. You can’t just go through my things.” Arthur started to go through the clothes that Francis had thrown into his suitcase. He made piles of what he wanted to bring and what he wouldn’t. “Where are we even going?”

The trio took turns excitedly informing Arthur about the plans. They were going to one of the Fawsley Hall Hotel, a gorgeous place that Arthur had never been to, but had heard of. They were to stay there for as long as they’d like (Francis’ parents really seemed to be upset about missing Christmas with him, and really wanted to make it up to him). They had both suites booked, and the plan was for them to room together. Francis had given Arthur a huge wink at this, not being subtle by any means, which got some laughs from Antonio and Gilbert while Arthur just rolled his eyes. The whole point of the vacation was to relax and have fun. Right. Because Arthur was so good at doing that.

They finally got Arthur’s stuff packed and into the S.U.V. It looked like the type of vehicle the secret police would drive--all black, impeccably clean, with tinted windows, and an all around ominous vibe. Francis kicked Antonio and Gilbert into the back seats, which both of them groaned about, but seemed to have expected. Arthur climbed into the passenger seat, and Francis drove. 

Normally when Arthur and Francis were driving, they would either be straight up feeling each other in the most sensitive of areas, or there was absolutely no contact. Depended on the mood and situation. But this time was different. Francis kept alternating between holding Arthur’s hand and resting his hand on Arthur’s knee and thigh. Francis seemed different that day in general. Calmer, more… sensual, if that made any sense. He’d shaven, which threw Arthur off the moment he noticed, but not as much as Francis’ consistent gentleman attitude. They’d barely bickered the whole drive there, which was just over two hours.

Anytime Arthur looked in the mirror, Antonio and Gilbert were watching him and Francis and whispering to one another, sometimes accompanied with a smirk or some laughter that they failed to stifle. Francis seemed to be ignoring it, like he found talking to Arthur and giving him sweet smiles to be more important than addressing the two  _ children _ in the back seats. Arthur wasn’t able to ignore them completely--clearly Francis had practice--and was very,  _ very  _ close to asking them what was so funny when Gilbert spoke up.

“So,” he started with a smirk, “you two fuck yet?”

“Gil!” Antonio exclaimed, looking both mortified and amused at once. “You can’t just ask people if they’ve fucked!”

Arthur blushed, not knowing what to do or say while Francis groaned in embarrassment, stopping at a red light. “It’s like I told you, Gil,” he said, and even though he tried to sound annoyed, he clearly had missed the other boy too much to be upset with him. “Arthur and I are friends, and sometimes we hang out outside of school. It’s a common thing--”

“You also said that he’s the hottest guy you’ve ever seen, and considering that you’ve met both Antonio and I, that’s a big claim.” Antonio couldn’t help but laugh cracking up and slumping in his seat. His laughter was so natural, like he had no reason not to laugh. Arthur knew that couldn’t be the case. 

“Did you really say that?” Arthur asked, turning in his seat to fully look at Francis, who seemed very focused on driving now that the light was green again. Arthur laughed at his blush, and couldn’t help but brush Francis’ silky locks out of his face and tucking them behind his ear with a soft smile, and Francis took his hand in his and kissed it out of habit. 

There was a moment of silence in the van, everyone letting the moment sink in before Antonio said, “Well, you could have told us you were dating, Francis.”

“We’re not dating,” Francis and Arthur said in unison, and Arthur laughed, even though it hurt him to hear Francis say that.

“Then what are you?” Gilbert exclaimed, confusion plastered all over his face, evident by the way his pale eyebrows crinkled up and his downturned, hung open mouth. 

“Friends,” Francis said slowly, gritting his teeth, and Arthur saw the way his knuckles went white on the steering wheel from his grip tightening.

Arthur smirked, letting himself have his own little moment of rebellion. “With benefits,” he added, and laughed when Francis’ head whipped to stare at him. For a moment Arthur thought that he would be angry, but his jaw was dropped, and he was looking at Arthur with bewilderment.

Antonio and Gilbert lost it in the back seats, laughing and screaming “oh my god” and “holy shit” along with other things. Arthur felt surprisingly giddy in midst of the chaos, and thought _ , well, why don’t I make it a little worse _ , and took Francis by the chin and turned his face back towards the road. “Eyes on the road, Francis,” he said lowly, and gave him a little peck on the cheek before going back to staring out the window like he had been previously.

“Okay, Francis, what the hell?” Antonio asked, making Arthur blink. That was the sternest he ever heard Antonio speak this whole time.

“What do you mean, Toni?” Francis asked after clearing his throat, surprisingly flustered. Arthur felt proud of himself, to be honest, for getting Francis worked up already just by that.

“Why aren’t you dating this guy?” The Spaniard clarified, but before anyone could respond, he continued. “You’re already messing around and going on dates. Just make it official already and stop being a wimp!”

Francis muttered something under his breath but otherwise did not address what his friend had said, instead handing his phone to Arthur. 

“You have the I.D. to my phone,” he said. “Put on some musical playlist. That’ll make them both stop bothering us and  _ sticking their noses where they don’t belong _ .” He practically yelled the last part at his friends, glaring at them from the rearview mirror.

Arthur had stopped listening after the word _musical_ , immediately going onto Francis’ Spotify and going through his downloads. “Are we in a Heathers mood? Or a Beetlejuice mood? Possibly Hamilton?”

When the two absolute children cried out  _ Hamilton _ in joyous voices, it took all of Arthur’s willpower to not laugh at their cuteness. How could two lowkey scary dudes be so goddamn adorable?

And to make it worse, they could both sing. Arthur already knew that Francis could--he’d already jokingly tried to serenade Arthur multiple times, but when the three of them killed it at “Schuyler Sisters”, Arthur thought he was going to lose his mind. Too perfect, all of them. It amazed him and made him feel like a piece of shit at the same time. 

Francis had to practically beg Arthur to sing along with them, and it took him putting on “Candy Store”, one of Arthur’s favourite musical songs ever, to finally get him to sing. Francis was hyping him up and making him laugh the whole time, and Antonio and Gilbert were dumbfounded. 

“ _ Shiza _ ,” Gilbert muttered. “Francis wasn’t kidding when he said you could sing.” Francis threw some random thing from the cup holder at him, and they all laughed, Arthur a little bit embarrassed. But when they started playing  _ Beetlejuice _ , he couldn’t even bother to be shy, joining in with the trio and having a blast. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much fun, and he didn’t want it to stop.

“I think we should have a full out karaoke session once we get to the hotel,” Gilbert declared, and Antonio cheered. Arthur and Francis laughed, looking at each other. Francis stopped at the red light and ran his fingers through Arthur’s unruly hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to kiss those magic words out of his mouth. Then he realised he’d be able to do that practically every night of this vacation. 

He didn’t want Christmas break to ever end.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> As we all know, I'm a sucker for the Bad Touch Trio (bless them), so this chapter has a lot about them. I swear I'll stop obsessing for the next chapter and focus on Arthur and Francis more (...maybe).  
> More Corona-virus cases are coming up in my area, and it's terrifying. We're all still battling against this pandemic, and we need to work together to squash it once and for all.   
> Stay safe, and take care.
> 
> Thank, darlings <3

Arthur and Francis’ suite was gorgeous; the ivory four poster bed had rose and teal pillows and sheets made of silk, giving an elegance to it. The mirrors hanging on the wall by the headboard of the bed were gold casted, and ridiculously clean. The white furniture looked freshly painted, as light as clouds, with varying shades of pink and red flowers painted onto them. There was a rose coloured desk that matched the pillows adjacent to the bed, and a matching table across from the teal couch at the foot of the bed, with a matching chair perpendicular to it. Across from the door there was a glass coffee table, much like the one in Arthur’s own living room, with four gold-coloured felted chairs around it. There was a T.V., too, across from the bed, beside yet another table with a coffee maker, lamp, iron, etc. The floor was a dark hardwood, almost gray, without a scratch. Though the room seemed like it would be crowded, it was actually quite spacious. Arthur took his time taking in the whole suite (including the insanely large bathroom and gorgeous view of the lake and grounds which could be seen from the large bay window area). The chandeliers were honestly one of Arthur’s favourite things in the room. They were modest, not too large or overpowering, just how Arthur liked it.

Francis was too busy squealing over the walk-in closet to take in the rest of the room, like he didn’t own one and had never seen one before. Normally Arthur would have found it annoying, but lately he’d been catching himself finding it endearing. It must be the atmosphere. As soon as the group had arrived, bringing in their bags, Arthur felt soothed. Maybe a getaway is what he had needed. 

Eventually, Francis was gone for so long that Arthur was frightened that he’d gotten lost in the closet (ironic), and went to check on him. He couldn’t hold back his laughter when he found Francis organising his and Arthur’s clothes in the closet by colour, just like how he did at his house. It made Arthur’s chest tighten, and he couldn’t help but think that he could get used to seeing Francis all domestic like that. 

The thought was dangerous--he’d fallen for Francis so hard already. Thinking about any future they may have together was a guaranteed way to get his heart even more broken. But… maybe he could pretend, just for the vacation, that he and Francis were truly in love, and they could be together for real. That they had a chance at a future where they could both be happy with one another. It made Arthur feel nostalgic, even though he had never experienced something like that before.

Francis had just pouted, giving Arthur a failed attempt at a stink eye. “If our clothes stay in our suitcases, they’ll be all rumpled,” he said, going back to folding pants and putting them in separate drawers before standing up. Arthur didn’t even bother to try and stop himself when he walked over and gave Francis a kiss. 

“I’m not judging you, love,” he said against his lips, smiling when Francis went red in the face. His skin tone was like a  rosé; the softest of pinks, and lovely, though Arthur wouldn’t say it out loud. Or would he? “You look lovely,” he confessed, which only made Francis blush more and kiss him again. 

Arthur could definitely get used to this, having Francis wrapped up in his arms, separated from the rest of the world. His logic, tucked away in the back of his mind, yet there all the same, warned him not to. He ignored it. He ignored everything as he kissed Francis like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. It was gentle, but passionate, snatching the breath out of their lungs and making them tremble with emotions and thoughts and wishes left unsaid. 

They broke apart, and Francis tucked his head into the crook of Arthur’s neck. The Brit just ran his fingers through Francis’ hair, scratching his scalp lightly, making the Frenchman hum in approval. They stayed like that for a few minutes, relishing in having one another close, before there was a knock on their door.

Francis removed himself from Arthur as Arthur left to open the door. Of course, it was Gilbert and Antonio. They had t-shirts on, but were in swimming trunks. They didn’t even wait before coming in, though it was more like Gilbert barged in and Antonio was being dragged by the hand behind him. Arthur tried not to chuckle at how Antonio had a tendency to cling to Gilbert and Francis like a baby elephant. It was adorable, and reminded him of his younger cousins. His heart panged with how much he missed them, but he put it aside. He couldn’t go back.

A pair of swimming trunks were thrown at Arthur’s head, and snatched them off of his head before turning around, glaring at the snickering trio. “Was that really necessary?” he asked.

“Yes,” they all said, and their snickering turned into laughter at that. 

Arthur sighed, trying to seem annoyed. “It was a rhetorical question, you geniuses.” He looked at the swimming trunks with a scowl. “I don’t exactly like the water,” he deadpanned.

“That’s not true,” Francis grinned. “You love hot showers.”

“I thought they hadn’t fucked yet, let alone shower sex,” Antonio whispered to Gilbert, not very quietly. Gilbert nodded solemnly, like Antonio had just told him something serious.

“We haven’t even showered together,” Francis said wistfully, pouting extra hard at Arthur.

“Don’t sound so disappointed.” He’d tried to keep a straight face, but he smiled half-way through. He couldn’t help it. Francis’ pouty face at their lack of showering together was too cute, even if he had his reasons not to allow it. He walked over to Francis and gave him a peck on the nose. 

That had Francis smiling again, and he kissed Arthur on the lips. It made the Brit grin, holding his face, Francis’ beard scratching the palms of his hands.. The gagging sounds Antonio and Gilbert started making made Arthur laugh so hard he had to break apart from Francis. Now Francis was glaring at his friends, with a dangerous smirk on his face.

“If you two imbeciles keep cock blocking me on this trip, I’m putting you in boxes and shipping you home,” he warned, still keeping his arms around Arthur, who was still laughing into his shoulder.

Antonio and Gilbert gave each other looks, and then did extremely dramatic faces of confusion. “Us? Cock blocking?” Gilbert gasped.

“Never!” Antonio declared, a hand over his heart. Arthur laughed even harder into Francis’ shoulder. No wonder these were his best friends--Arthur had laughed more around those two than he had in years. 

After only a little more bickering and peer pressure, Arthur changed into his swimming trunks in the washroom. He grabbed an old t-shirt that he didn’t remember packing and put it on, grabbing a towel from the shelf as he exited the bathroom.

The trio had to practically drag him out of the suite, which shouldn’t have been difficult considering all three of them were stronger than Arthur, but he put up a fight. Again, he didn’t exactly like water.

It ended up being worth it, because there was a spectacular hot tub, and Arthur bee-lined for it. So did Gilbert, surprisingly enough. Antonio threw himself in the pool the second they got there, like the cold didn’t bother him in the slightest. Francis took a bit more time warming up to the pool water.

“Y’know, hot tubs are better when you can actually feel the water,” Gilbert said, motioning to Arthur’s ratty t-shirt with a lazy hand. Upon sensing Arthur’s discomfort, the boy was quick to correct himself. “No pressure, man. Sorry, I tend to come off quite, uhh, what’s the word…”

“Forward?” Arthur suggested. 

Gilbert snapped his fingers. “That’s it.” He laughed a bit, though it was quite awkward and a bit forced. “I’m not the best with people, or wording things.”

Arthur gave him a gentle smile. “That’s okay.” A few moments passed, and Arthur spoke again. “Francis told me a lot about you and Antonio.” Gilbert gave another nervous chuckled, too much air, forced out voice. 

“Yeah, he knows a lot about us. Probably more than he should, to be honest.”

“He didn’t say anything bad, if that’s what you’re nervous about.”

“I’m not nervous,” he rushed out, and immediately cringed. Arthur held back a laugh, barely. “Okay, maybe you do make me a bit nervous,” Gilbert mumbled, sinking himself lower in the water. 

“Why would I make you nervous?” Arthur asked, bewildered. “I’m, like, several inches shorter than you and an absolute twig. You could beat the shit out of me.”

Gilbert laughed, the tension visibly easing in his shoulders. It looked like rocks flattening. “I probably could, but I don’t exactly like fighting.” Arthur was silent, making Gilbert continue. “I used to be really quick to throw hands--I still am, honestly. But I’m trying to correct that and chill out.”

“Why don’t you like fighting, if I may ask?” Arthur asked gently, feeling himself relax more. 

“I’ve just been exposed to it a lot. Fighting was the first thing I learned to do--my father wanted to make sure I could protect myself, ‘cause we were living in a bad area, so he taught me. But it kinda backfired on both of us, since it gave me the ability to beat the shit outta the people who used to make fun of me, and that just got me in trouble. I just transferred all the anger from the other aspects of my life into fighting those jerks, and it formed a very bad habit, and gave me a very bad reputation.” Gilbert blinked, cutting himself off. He gave Arthur a weird look, both fascinated and terrified. 

“What is it?” Arthur asked him, seeing his internal struggle.

“The only people I’ve told that to are Toni and Francis, and that’s because I trust them more than anyone else in the world. I have trust issues, since I’m used to people leaving since my father was always being dispatched on missions every few months--Stop doing that!”

Arthur jumped, startled by the sudden outburst. “Doing what?” he yelled back, just as confused as Gilbert.

“You’re making me talk about my problems! I don’t know how, but you’re making me feel safe, and it’s scary!” Gilbert laughed near the end of his phrase, and Arthur just chuckled.

“Maybe you need to talk about it. You don’t have to, but I’m here to listen if you do,” he offered. Gilbert looked about ready to run, but there was a look in his eye that exposed him, showed how he did want to talk about his issues, clearly didn’t enough, and did have a hard time trusting others enough to do so.

“Maybe I do,” he agreed, and settled back into the water. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Arthur replied, sinking into the water until it was hitting his collar bones and resting his head against the side of the hot tub, relishing in the heat of the water.

“What… what did you first think of me when you saw me?” Arthur picked his head up and quirked an eyebrow at Gilbert, giving him a  _ why are you asking me that  _ look. “I’ve been told that I can look, uhh, mean, I guess.”

Arthur smiled to himself. He’d gotten Gilbert so right and so wrong at the same time. “Well, when you first showed up at my door,” Arthur started, giving him a little kick in the leg, “I thought maybe you’d be military, because of your stance. Super straight spine, and feet perfect distance apart for being at attention. But you’re clearly too young for military, so you’ve been exposed somehow else. Clearly now it’s your dad, since you mentioned he’d be leaving for missions. You have a tendency to look around a lot and take in every room you enter in full, which led me to assume you have a tendency to be suspicious of others, and quite guarded. The way that your shoulders were almost always squared, and the fact that you kept Antonio by your side consistently, showed that you’re defensive, and likely defensive of a specific person, or persons. Your eyebags were also easily noticeable--no offense--which indicated that you needed this break as much as I did.” Arthur gave a small shrug, saying, “All in all, I thought that even though you try to act like a little rebel, being pose and orderliness were ingrained in you so much that they transferred into your very being, and that you wanted to protect others at all cost. You’re a badass, but you’re also a huge softy.”

Gilbert’s jaw was literally hitting the water. “Holy shit,” he muttered. He leaned super close to Arthur, staring at him like he was a marvel. “You’re fucking Sherlock Holmes.” Faster than Arthur could keep track of, Gilbert was shoving himself up the side of the hot tub and yelling at Antonio. “Toni, holy shit, bro! Francis is John Watson!” Arthur immediately got what he meant, and couldn’t contain his laughter.

Francis and Antonio stopped the splash fight that they had been having (children) and stared at Gilbert in confusion. “But, he’s french,” Antonio said, swimming over to the side of the pool to meet Gilbert, saving him from having to get in the water to talk to him, folding his arms onto the side of the pool to hold himself up. 

“Well, he’s in fucking Sherlock Holmes’ pants--Arthur is Sherlock, man!” Gilbert looked way too excited for someone who had their whole character explained to them in a slightly harsh way. 

_ Resiliency, nice _ , Arthur thought, and added that to his list of characteristics about Gilbert. 

Antonio seemed to get it, and pushed himself up and over the side of the pool. Goddamn, was that a scene. It was like the world slowed down. The water rippled down him, highlighting his muscles, leading down his hips and pooling onto his saturated swimsuit that was already clinging to his strong legs. He looked like a goddamn Roman emporer’s statue. Arthur was probably drooling. 

Antonio didn’t seem to notice his gay panic as he walked over, hips swaying slightly. If anything, he seemed uncomfortable himself, his back hunched slightly to make his midsection less noticeable, holding one arm with the opposite hand. Arthur just turned around, tucking his feet up on the bench built into the side of the hot tub and sat in awe and slight envy of how attractive all three of them were. 

The Spaniard lowered himself into the hot tub tentatively, like the water would literally burn him, though he showed no signs of discomfort. Gilbert was still screeching about Arthur to Francis as the Frenchman desperately tried to contain the other boy’s excitement. There were huge arm gestures, and words echoing all throughout the pool area, overlapping each other. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if they could be heard from the lobby. 

“Don’t mind Gil,” Antonio said, and his voice was incredibly soft. It was almost like he was talking to an upset child, or a small, timid creature. “He really likes classic literature. He was so excited to come here since there’s so much of it.”

Arthur smiled. “Gilbert and I can agree on that. I’ve read all the Sherlock Holmes novels. They’re quite interesting.” He watched Antonio watch his friends. He looked at them with such fondness, even when they were doing something absolutely ridiculous. He laughed outright--this small burst of cheer--and Arthur turned around to see Gilbert spluttering in the water while Francis laughed at him. Francis had probably pulled him in, the frog.

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself, and turned his attention back to the silent boy in front of him. He was dragging his bracelets through the water, watching how the end strings and beads made little ripples. Arthur cleared his throat a bit before speaking. “What kinds of things are you into?”

Antonio made eye contact for only a brief moment before returning his gaze to the beads. This guy was the epitome of ‘social anxiety’. And Arthur thought he had it bad. “I like cooking, and dancing, though I’m not very good at either. I also play music.”

“I play the guitar,” Arthur said, glad to have something in common with Antonio. “Also piano.”

“I play guitar, too,” Antonio replied, perking up and actually making full eye contact with Arthur for the first time.

They ended up talking about guitars and music until Francis and Gilbert came over. “Excusez-moi,” Francis said, practically falling into Arthur’s lap, draping an arm over his small shoulders. Gilbert wasn’t much better, just dropping himself all over Antonio, who seemed to either not mind or be very used to it, and made it his mission to get any tangles out of Gilbert’s hair.

“What’cha guys talking about?” he asked, looking like he was in Heaven as Antonio played with his bangs, cradling his head.

“Guitars.”

Gilbert opened his eyes again, looking over at Arthur.” That’s so dope, man. I play the bass.”

“So Francis has told me,” Arthur replied. “Speaking of which, cut that out.” He swatted Francis’ hand, which had been creeping up his shirt.

“I’m just concerned for your navel piercing. Is it okay to have it in a hot tub already?”

Arthur rolled his eyes at Francis. “You’re such a shit liar,” he sighed. The other two boys agreed with him. “And, no, I shouldn’t be in the hot tub. But I’ll just dry it thoroughly and clean it out. It’ll be fine.”

Antonio cleared his throat a little, trying to get their attention. “Where, umm, where did you get it done?” he asked. 

“A piercing shop in London, right around where I live,” Arthur replied. “Why? Do you want one?” 

Antonio nodded. “Si, but I don’t think my parents would like that a whole lot.”

“That’s why you get it done in a whole other country while you’ll be gone for weeks so they’ll never know,” Gilbert declared. He rolled, almost rolling completely off of Antonio’s lap, but the boy was too nice to let him and caught him. “Do you have nipple piercings?”

Arthur laughed nervously. “Uh, no, I don’t.”

“Damn, I wanna know how much they hurt so I can prepare myself,” he grumbled.

“Gil,” Antonio said, still playing with his hair, “you’d get killed by Roderiech.”

“I’ll just keep my shirt on,” Gilbert replied.

Francis scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from someone who tears his shirt off any chance he gets.”

Gilbert splashed him, consequently splashing Arthur, who was quick to splash back. Antonio stopped them before it could become a full out splash war.

“How about we get some food before we drown each other?” Arthur suggested, and he could have sworn he never saw anyone run that fast. Gilbert and Antonio were gone in a hurry, yelling about food and starvation, or something. Francis just shook his head fondly, taking his time getting out of the water, and helping Arthur out, too.

“Thanks for helping me with the kids,” he joked, smiling at Arthur like he was the only light in the world.

Arthur brushed wet locks away from his eyes. “Anything for you,” he replied, scaring himself with how much he meant it. They shared one last kiss before interlocking hands, going back to their hotel room.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> I have to things to say about this chapter:  
> 1) smut warning  
> 2) I told you it was going to go to shit
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

That night, when Antonio and Gilbert left to sleep in their room, Arthur sat on the bed, propped up against the headboard with pillows, reading a paperback novel. Francis was in the shower, taking his sweet time, but Arthur didn’t mind. He’d already showered, shooting down Francis’ puppy dog eyes, silently pleading to join him, and gotten into his pajamas. 

Arthur was so nervous to let things go farther with Francis, which was strange because sex wasn’t something that tended to make him nervous. The emotions he sometimes felt for his “partners” sure did, and _damn_ , if he didn’t have a lot of emotions when it came to Francis.

Another part of him worried that if he didn’t allow Francis more pleasure soon the Frenchman would leave him, but he refused to acknowledge that for longer than he had to. He hated the thought of Francis leaving, even though he knew that, eventually, they would have to part ways. The thought made Arthur set down his book, no longer liking the symmetry it had to his own life.

That’s when Francis walked out, drying out the ends of his hair. Immediately, he picked up on Arthur’s low mood, and draped his towel on the back of a chair.

“What’s wrong, mon cher?” he asked, walking over to the bed.

“Just a sad part in the book,” Arthur replied, sliding his bookmark between the pages and closing it noiselessly and settling himself lower on the mass of pillows.

“Tell me about it,” Francis said, crawling over the bed and curling himself around Arthur, resting his head over Arthur’s heart. The boy didn’t even notice he had instinctively started to brush his fingers through Francis’ hair, untangling it.

“The characters have to say goodbye because one is going away for schooling. That guy seems ready to go, excited even. But the other one…” Arthur took a deep breath, letting it out fully before he spoke again. “He isn’t ready. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.”

Francis shifted so he was laying on his side, still pressed tightly against Arthur, but looking at him. “You don’t want us to part, do you?” he asked timidly, like he was scared of Arthur’s answer.

Arthur didn’t reply, instead breaking eye contact and looking at the blank T.V. screen across the room. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, aching, because Francis was right. He didn’t want them to part, and that made his heart thump erratically. It lept when Francis placed a hand on his cheek, turning his head back so they were looking at one another again. Arthur was reminded of that first day, the one that had pulled the lever for this emotional roller coaster he was on. Francis had been so incredibly gentle with Arthur, patient and sweet. It had left him speechless; made him feel like no one else had ever had. It made him feel _important_.

“Mon cher,” Francis said, caressing Arthur’s cheekbone with his thumb, still holding his face in one hand. “You know I would follow you wherever you go.”

The Brit felt his heart clench. Here was a boy--no, a _man_ \--claiming that he would follow him to the ends of the earth. So why couldn’t Arthur believe him? He’d done everything to win Arthur’s trust, to prove he meant what he said. But… Arthur was scared. He fought to keep control over his breathing, and willed tears not to form in his eyes.

“I could never ask that of you,” he whispered, not trusting his voice to be steady enough to speak at a proper volume. 

Francis gave him that soft smile that he seemed to only give Arthur. “You would never have to.” He leaned down to kiss Arthur, but the Brit surged up and captured his lips first. Arthur let everything out in that kiss; the anguish of having to be apart from Francis, the fear of Francis leaving him, the need to always have him by his side. He let out his want, his _need_ to stay with the Frenchman, his desperation to be cared for, and his undying, never faltering love for Francis. 

The other boy met him kiss for kiss, swallowing every sigh and moan and sob that came from Arthur’s parted lips. Pressing the Brit down onto the bed, he moved on top of him, letting his weight be a comfort for Arthur and he trailed his hands over every part of Arthur he could reach. The Brit leaned into every touch and graze, relishing in the feeling of Francis for as long as he could, letting it chase away the terror of never having him like this again.

Arthur was the one to break the kiss, as per usual, and before Francis could say anything, Arthur spoke. “I want you.”

Francis’ eyes bulged, clearly taken aback by Arthur’s declaration. Before the Brit could let the embarrassment swallow him up, Francis gave him another heated kiss, then pulled away, going towards his suitcase. Arthur gave a breathy laugh when he produced lube and a condom.

“In my defense, it was better to have them and not need them than to not have them and need them,” Francis pointed out. Arthur didn’t say anything, just watched as Francis walked back to him. He sprawled, letting the Frenchman hover back over him. Nervous chills rushed down him, causing him to tense up. Francis chased them away with his smooth, warm hands, touching Arthur everywhere he could reach.

He undressed the Brit quickly, but took his time preparing him. Arthur was a puddle on gasps and pleasure by the time Francis was actually entering him. Every part of Arthur seemed to be hypersensitive. He felt every thread of the fabric under him, every millimetre of Francis’ length, and coolness of the air, and the heat of their bodies. It was beautiful, a goddamn symphony on it’s own, and when Francis started to move… Arthur had never felt so good in his life. It was overwhelming, yet comforting. It was like Francis was worshiping him with every thrust, making him feel like he was the only thing that mattered in the world with every soft word whispered into his ear.

For once, Arthur felt loved.

One thing that no one had bothered to tell Arthur about that he found out on his own the first time he’d bottomed during sex--the soreness lingers. Like, actually. When thoroughly fucked, it stays for a few days. It wasn’t just a kink thing (everyone knew the classic line of “I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for a week” was a common thing to say when getting in the mood), it actually happened. The first time, Arthur had experienced so much discomfort that it bordered on the line of pain. This was far from Arthur’s first time.

The soreness was still one of the first things that he noticed when he woke up, however. That, and how fucking great he felt. Well rested and warm, Arthur snuggled into the blankets, reaching out blindly to find Francis and curl against him, only for his hand to meet air and hit an empty mattress. 

Shooting up, Arthur found himself to be alone. There was no trace of Francis in the room, and there were no sounds coming from the bathroom to suggest that he was in there. Spinning around, tangling his legs up in the sheets, Arthur analysed the room. Francis’ things were still there, and so were Arthur’s, but there was no sign of the Frenchman. 

It was like someone had snatched the wind from Arthur’s lungs, and replaced his mind with the living nightmare that he was, in fact, alone. As much as he had wanted to believe it, Francis was just like everyone else. Arthur had been right about him from the first day. No one said no to Francis, not even Arthur, and Francis had gotten what he wanted from Arthur. There was no point to stick around.

Cold sweats covered Arthur in seconds, and his stomach passed through the floor. Swinging the sheets back, Arthur got out of the bed with shaky legs, running to the bathroom without bothering to close the door behind him, sticking his head over the toilet and heaving. 

Tears the size of rivers poured down Arthur’s face. His hair stuck to his forehead, and his hands were beyond clammy, nearly causing him to slip on the tiled floor.

Every moment with Francis passed through his mind as he puked and coughed into the toilet. The kind looks that had made his knees weak; the sweet words that had knocked down Arthur’s walls; the gentle touches that had filled him with desperation; the gestures of affection that had fooled the brit into thinking that Francis really cared for him. 

Arthur was an idiot. An absolute moron. He’d been hurt by countless people--he knew what teenage boys did, dammit! Why had he let himself be led, dragged along by yet another gorgeous man who just wanted to use him. Coming on this trip had been a mistake. Arthur should have just accepted his aunt’s invitation to America. Hell, he should have never have helped Francis with his stupid bloody project in the first place. If he’d just set boundaries, kept it in his pants for once, then he could have avoided this whole situation. He needed to get out of this goddamn suite, out of the hotel. Being around Francis would hurt him too much. It was easier to be alone.

Arthur managed to calm himself down enough that he could get up once he had nothing left to throw up. Taking a quick shower, he made a plan; he would get dressed, gather his things, and head back to his house by calling a cabbie. Ignore every call or text from Francis, or get too drunk to even tell that his phone was ringing. He’d stay alone for the rest of break, and when school started back up, he’d focus on exams, using them as an excuse to not see Francis. Hopefully their next semester classes wouldn’t match up. 

Arthur got out of the shower before Francis got back, drying himself off with one of the hotel towels. He grabbed his toothbrush from the dish and cried when he realized that Francis had put them side by side. He calmed down so he would choke on toothpaste, and left to gather his things. By the time he was dressed, the Frenchman still hadn’t returned. Arthur was sure it had only been about half an hour since he woke up, maybe a bit more. As much as his broken heart wanted to see Francis, Arthur knew it was for the best. He was too vulnerable to see the other boy right then. If he did, God knows he would just fall back into his arms. 

This was for the best. 

Arthur had left without anyone seeing him. Thankfully, he’d brought his wallet, and was able to pay for the trip back to his house. He just went back up to his room, and dropped his suitcase on a random spot on the floor. He went to the larder, grabbing a bottle without checking the label, praying it was strong enough to wash away the remnants of his soul. 

Arthur didn’t even bother going to his bed when he got back to his room. Instead, he plopped himself at his desk, taking out his cutting blade. After chugging a quarter of the bottle, Arthur set to work. He marked everywhere, like he was trying to cut away all the parts of him that Francis had touched, kissed, and praised. Ridding himself of Francis and everything he thought that they could ever have, he told himself it was all a lie until he couldn’t think anything else in his drunken state. Arthur passed out at some point, blacking out from the alcohol and how tired he’d already been from the previous anxiety attacks. He collapsed onto the floor, the bottle tipping over and spilling everywhere, mixing with Arthur’s pooled up blood.

Arthur didn’t have the chance to set everything back the way it was supposed to be, all his habits spilled on the floor for anyone to see. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> And you thought last chapter was bad...  
> Thank you all for putting up with my evil ;P
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

_ When Arthur didn’t come downstairs for breakfast, I started to get worried. I knew he would be tired, since his sleeping habits, as well as some other habits, were subpar at best. And then there was the previous night…  _

_ I decided to wait it out, reasoning that Arthur was probably just taking his time getting cleaned up before he came to join the rest of us. Or he hadn’t seen the note I’d left him to tell him to come down to the breakfast hall. Eating breakfast with Toni and Gil, I kept an eye on my watch, anxious for Arthur’s arrival and what he would say about the previous night. _

_ I had to be honest with myself--I had felt somewhat guilty when I woke up. I could see  _

_ What would he say? Would he be upset? He’d been hesitant to have sex with me for months--what changed his mind? And what did that make us? Did the sex mean as much to Arthur as it meant to me? Was he avoiding me because he regretted it? Maybe he didn’t return my affections like I thought he might…  _

_ Eventually the thoughts swirling in my mind became too much, so I finished up my food and made a plate for Arthur to bring up to him. Toni and Gil decided to follow me, and by the tenseness in Toni’s shoulders I could tell that he could feel something was off. He was clutching the tray of food and tea, that he insisted in carrying, so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. Gil didn’t seem to pick up on the atmosphere of the situation, but Toni was practically hunched in two with worry. That’s the only reason I let them come. _

_ I knocked on the door, just to give Arthur a chance to get himself dressed if he wasn’t already. When there was no answer, I knocked again, calling out, “Arthur? You awake?” There was still no answer. I could feel my stomach slowly sink, like someone was filling it with rocks. Taking a deep breath, I used my keycard to unlock the door, and immediately felt my heart stop beating in my chest. _

_ Arthur’s suitcase wasn’t by the table like it had been the night before.  _

_ As a matter of fact, it was nowhere to be seen. Nor was he. There were no sounds coming from the shower. I ran into the room, checking the night side table, and the note I’d left him telling him to meet me down in the breakfast hall was untouched. Running across the room, I swung open the closet doors, but he wasn’t there. I checked the bathroom, but he wasn’t there, either. Frantically, I sprinted to the windows, trying to see if maybe he was on the grounds somewhere, but there was no sign of Arthur. _

_ I started to shake, panicking. I’d left him for maybe an hour… what had happened? He should have told me if he was leaving--he would have, normally. I must have pushed him too far. He wasn’t ready. He only said he wanted me because he felt like he had to. Maybe it was his way of making sure I stayed… But I didn’t. I internally cursed, pacing around the room and tugging at my hair. I was gone by the time Arthur must have woken up. He must have thought that I left him. Merde. _

_ Toni took me by the shoulders, having set the tray down on the table, and pulled me in for a hug. I clung to him limply, reality crashing around me. Arthur was gone, he didn’t want me, Arthur was gone. I started to cry, shoving my face into my friend’s shoulder.  _

_ “He doesn’t want me,” I sobbed. Antonio rubbed my back, shaking his head. “I fucked up, Toni. I went too far.” _

_ “You had sex?” he asked, slight surprise making his voice rise in pitch, halting the movement of his hand. I could only respond by sobbing harder, and he resumed his back rubbing. “You’re wrong, Francis. Arthur does want you. He’s just scared. You both are.” _

_ I tried to answer, to tell Toni that he was wrong, but the words died in my throat. I wanted to believe him, and his rationalization made sense. But… it all hurt too much.  _

_ “Francis, mi amigo, look at me,” Toni said softly, leaning back and taking my face in one of his hands, bringing my head up to look at him. “He’s scared. That’s why he left. Arthur left before you could leave him. If you want to prove to him that you want him--that you’re in it for the long run--you need to find him and tell him.” _

_ I nodded, knowing Toni was right. How he knew this about Arthur, I had no clue. Toni was like that--scarily empathic. That didn’t make him any less right. Arthur had been left so many times; he was probably just scared that I would do the same thing. “I should have stayed until he woke up,” I said, lowering my head in shame. “I knew his past--he’d told me himself. I should have been there.” _

_ “But you weren’t,” Gil’s voice cut in, and I whipped my head to see him leaning against the doorway. “So all you can do now is fix it. I checked with the front desk, and the lady said she saw someone fitting Arthur’s description leave around the same time we were eating breakfast. He got into a cab, and had all of his luggage.” _

_ I hadn’t even heard Gilbert leave, let alone come back. I was still grateful for the information, and that both of my friends were so willing to help me, even when I hadn’t asked. _

_ Gilbert came over and joined the hug so I was sandwiched between the two of them. “We’ll get him back, Francis, don’t worry.” _

_ We did a sweep of the room, trying to find anything he left behind, maybe some confirmation that he went back to his house and not somewhere else. We checked with the front desk lady if he had seemed off, but she only said, “he just waited patiently for his cabbie, and was quiet. I barely noticed him there.” _

_ Of course, Arthur was hiding his pain from everyone, molding himself into the background so no one would try and dig up the truth. I thought I had finally gotten through to him the night before, but I was wrong. I only made it worse. _

_ I stood by the windows like I’d seen Arthur do so often during his short stay, trying to get into his mind. Where could he have gone? Back to his house was the most probable answer. Toni stood silently by my side, not touching me, but supporting me all the same. Gil was sprawled over a chair, trying so damn hard to look chill and cool in this shitty situation. Normally I would find comfort in his relaxation--knowing that at least he was calm settled my nerves--but this time it just pissed me off. _

_ “Could you at least pretend like you care?” I snapped at him, turning around to fully glare at him. _

_ “Me?” he shot back. “You’re the one stalling instead of going after your boyfriend!” However, Gil did sit up, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His face went stone cold, and I could see him holding back from fighting me. _

_ “He’s not my boyfriend! How can that not be clear to you by now? After fucking everything, you’re still being a thoughtless idiot!” I yelled at him, knowing that I was using him as an outlet for my anger, but really not caring in the moment. All it took was Gil getting to his feet to for me to see that I was in the wrong, and get Toni to cower, backing up to the window ledge. The second he did, I watched as Gilbert’s heart broke, written all over his face. His eyes immediatly went glassy, and I could have sworn he stopped breathing.  _

_ Gil’s voice was shaking as he spoke softly, “I fucking new it. They hit you.” Toni flinched, and his breathing was picking up by the second. I stood frozen on the spot--the last time I tried to help someone, I made it worse. I took the risk and gently held Toni’s hand. He didn’t return the gesture, but he also didn’t pul away. _

_ Gil made himself look small, crouching his shoulders in and slumping, raising his hands before slowly walking towards Toni. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m over-reacting--we all are. Arthur leaving has affected all of us--” he gave me a look when he said that-- “and it sucks. It really, really does. But you’re okay, Toni. I promise. No one’s going to harm you while I’m around. I promise.” By the time he finished speaking, Gil was standing in front of Toni, wrapping him in to a gentle embrace that Toni returned, finally calming down. Gil looked at he and rolled his eyes. “You get in here, too.” _

_ We stayed like that for a while, holding each other. At some point, I started crying again, blubbering about how this was all my fault, and that I shouldn’t have left Arthur. With every reason I brought up, Toni and Gil shot it down, soothing me with gentle embraces and kind words. I don’t know how long we stayed like that. While it was nice, it did nothing to snuff out the guilt burning in my chest. I still believed everything I had said--this was my fault, and I needed to fix it. _

_ We ended up having to talk to the management and come up with some bogus story when they came to the suit and asked what was the matter, and why we were looking for someone. They offered to call the police to help us, but Gilbert was quick to tell them no, insisting that it wasn’t that serious. I prayed that he was right. _

_ That’s how we ended up in the car, driving back to London. Antonio drove since I was considered too emotionally unstable, and Gilbert would have sped the whole way there and gotten us in trouble. Instead, he held me in the back seats, checking up on me every few minutes with a muttering of words. Throughout the drive, I tried to steal up my nerves and sort out what I would say to Arthur. Would I apologize for leaving? Yes. Would I tell him that I had left a note? Well, I didn’t want to make it sound like I was making excuses. Would I ask him out properly, and tell him that friends with benefits was never what I had wanted with him? Probably not. Not until I knew he felt the same. I know, I was a coward, but Arthur was the first one I actually loved. He wasn’t after the things I would buy for him. He liked me for me. At least, I thought he had…  _

_ The drive felt so much longer without the music and Arthur’s singing. He’d seemed so happy--he had until last night. I’d royally fucked up. _

_ When we finally got to Arthur’s house, it looked like a ghost town. There still wasn’t a car in the laneway, which Gil and Toni seemed to find strange. Toni was also clutching onto Gil’s arm like his life depended on it. It only got worse when we found the front door unlocked. _

_ “Something’s wrong,” he whispered, and I could hear the fear in his shaky voice.  _

_ “A little late for cluing in,” Gilbert huffed, but still wrapped his arm around Toni as we stepped in. _

_ “I mean it--this isn’t right!” Toni was close to hysterics, and we had barely entered the house.  _

_ “Gil, wait down here with Toni, I’m going to go check upstairs,” I said. Gilbert nodded. I didn’t bother to tell them that I presumed Arthur had drank himself to sleep with alcohol--there was no need to add my own theories into Arthur’s bad habits to an already overwhelming situation.  _

_ Pushing down the unease in my gut, I went up the stairs. “Arthur?” I called. When there was no answer, I moved faster. “Arthur?” Still nothing. By the time I got to his room, I was running. The hallways seemed to lengthen, stretching time out before me, stopping me from getting to Arthur. The stench of copper and vomit in the air was thick, making my stomach churn. It felt like I was walking straight towards my doom, into the clutches of despair. When I got to Arthur’s room, the door was open, the suitcase right outside the doorway, thrown carelessly, causing cold chills to travel all over my body. As I turned the corner, my eyes wandered to the floor.  _

_ There was Arthur. _

_ He was laying on the floor, a bottle tipped over and spilled beside him, the contents mixing with the small amount of blood on the ground. There were lines of red covering his body, no longer bleeding, but fresh. A small blade was right by his hand, like it had fallen out when he collapsed. He was covered in perspiration, breathing heavily, and there was vomit close to his mouth. Tear tracks were prominent on his face, though they were dried completely. I don’t even remember rushing to his side, but the next thing I knew, I was taking him off of the floor and dragging him to his bed. He was sickly warm, but he seemed to be stirring a bit. Thank God, Arthur was alive. Relief flooded me, though I still felt an overpowering worry. _

_ “Call an ambulance,” I yelled, hoping that either Toni or Gil would hear me. I got a yell back in response, but I couldn’t make out what they said. I finally got Arthur on his bed when I heard a gasp and cry from behind me. Spinning around, there was Toni about to lose his mind and Gil looking horrified. Before I could repeat myself, Gilbert was rushing forward, situated Arthur on the bed more comfortably and checking his pulse.  _

_ “He probably hit his head, knocked himself unconscious. It’ll take a few hours for him to wake up, so let’s make ourselves busy for now.” Turning around, he looked at me. “Get Arthur washed up. Be careful that you don’t press too hard on his cuts--they’ll open and start to bleed again. Toni, you help him with that. I’ll get this place cleaned up.” _

_ We got to work immediately, Antonio helping me carry Arthur to the bathroom, and searching for towels and extra clothes while I held him and started up the bath. It was bittersweet, washing Arthur up while he was unconscious. It reminded me of how much I’d been wishing for this moment with him. Who would have thought that it would happen like this…  _

_ I took my time, washing away the dried up blood, sweat, alcohol, and tears from Arthur. I even washed his hair, reveling in how the shortness just slipped through my fingers. I’d let Arthur slip through my fingers in a similar manner. I washed away the blood, wishing it would take away the pain. When I scrubbed him clean of sweat, I prayed it would take away the worry that tended to crease his face. I watched the alcohol lift off of his skin, and hoped he would never drink again. When I went to wash his tears, I let loose some of my own, filled to the brim with the guilt of knowing that I was the cause of those tears. I let the water and cloth take them away, and vowed that I would never,  _ ever _ , leave Arthur’s side again. _

_ I loved him too much to see him hurt like this. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> It's exam season, and I'm extremely brain dead, so if this chapter is shit, I apologize.  
> As always, I hope everyone is doing well, and feel free to hit me up with some suggestions as to what you guys wanna read--whether it be whole other fics, sequels or prequels to some that I already have up, things in other fan bases, or even for this fic. Hit me up! I love hearing what you guys have to say.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

When Arthur awoke, the first thing he noticed was how dry his mouth felt, like someone had sucked all of the moisture out of him. The second was that his head wasn’t hurting as bad as he thought it should when taking the amount he had drunk and his mighty fall onto the floor into consideration. He also realized thirdly that he was in his bed, tucked securely under the covers, in fresh boxers and a t-shirt. The fourth realization occurred when he mustered up all of the strength he could manage in his half-awake stage, he lifted his arm for inspection. It was covered in fresh bandages and cleaned from any blood.

Letting his arms flop down onto the covers, he turned his head to see some chairs from the dining room; his fifth realization. If Arthur was an idiot, he would have thought that his parents had come back and found him, but Arthur was not an idiot. And there were three chairs there. That led to his sixth realization, which was more of a theory than a proven fact.

The trio had found him.

Arthur laid in his bed for a while, soaking in the idea. It was plausible that they had found him--they weren’t stupid. He knew that. However, there wasn’t an adequate reason as to why. Gilbert and Antonio were only friendly to him because they were friends with Francis, and Francis had left him. Therefore, their ties were severed the moment Francis had decided he was done with Arthur, no matter what Gilbert had said in the hot tub. 

The thought hurt Arthur more than he wanted to accept. Antonio and Gilbert seemed like good guys. Sure, Antonio was definitely hiding things, and Gilbert was astonishingly nosy, but they were beautiful people all the same. Ones that, given time, Arthur could have potentially opened up to.

And then there was Francis.

But Arthur had been thinking about the Frenchman too much already. And he had a more pressing matter at hand; solving the mystery of who the hell was in his house? He could smell food coming from downstairs, and his stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t made any food recently, nor could he cook to save his life. 

Taking a deep breath, Arthur pulled the covers off, slowly getting up and placing his feet on the floorboards, slightly recoiling at the cold. He noticed there were slippers placed right in front of his feet like someone had known his feet would land in that exact spot. It was strange, but Arthur brushed it off and put them on.

When he initially stood up, he fell right back onto the bed from his disorientation. Taking a calming breath, he tried again, slowly that time. Looking around his room, he saw that everything was cleaned. There was no blood or alcohol on the floor, and his suitcase was tucked beside his dresser, standing up. He felt a small smile dawn on his face from the kindness portrayed through the action, shuffling out of his room and closing the door behind him.

Arthur clutched the railing in a death grip all the way down the stairs. The smell of food got stronger as he descended, making his stomach rumble. Turning the corner into the kitchen, he acknowledged that Antonio and Gilbert were there, but his mind focused on a sight he never thought he’d see.

Francis was in the kitchen, flipping crepes at the stove while simultaneously frying eggs and breakfast sausages. He seemed to be in his own little world, humming tunelessly and he cooked. He was dressed in a light-grey sleek pullover shirt and well-fitted blue jeans, no doubt the most casual thing the boy owned. He was wearing thick knitted socks instead of slippers resting one foot slightly behind him, seeming right at home in Arthur’s kitchen. Arthur didn’t know why, but every detail of that moment took his breath away, putting him back into that dream of having a future with Francis. He could imagine it so clearly; he’d wake up similar to this, but not hungover and covered in cuts. Francis would turn and smile at him, saying, “good morning, mon cher.” They could eat their breakfast together, do the dishes, and enjoy their time together before going about their day. In the evening they could come home to one another, repeat the process for dinner, and relax in front of the T.V., holding onto each other and enjoying each other’s company. They could be good together. Arthur really wanted to believe that. He truly did, but he still felt reality holding him back.

Before he could sulk away glumly, the trio noticed him. Gilbert looked like he was both pissed and relieved, and Arthur could only presume it was because of how the past numerous hours had played out. Arthur would be, too, if someone he had opened up to had just left him. Oh, wait. They had.

“Arthur,” Toni said, setting down a steaming mug of tea or coffee, Arthur couldn’t tell which, and motioned for him to come into the room. “You’re awake.” 

Upon hearing this, Francis dropped his spatula, whipping his head around to look at Arthur. It was only then that Arthur saw how tired he looked. The bags under his eyes were darker than the night sky, his eyelids puffy, eyes red-rimmed and brightness extinguished. His shoulders relaxed slightly before tensing up again. Arthur saw that his nails were bitten to the beds, the skin around it broken and looked like it had been bleeding. For once, Francis’ hair didn’t look perfectly kept, and his stubble had grown past its usual daily trim

“How long was I sleeping for?” Arthur asked no one in particular.

Francis seemed only capable of staring, and Antonio was mid-sip of his drink, so Gilbert answered. “About a day. You woke up a few times to puke, but fell back asleep after we gave you Advil for your headache.”

Arthur grimaced. “I, uhh, I apologize that you guys had to deal with that.” This made everyone frown at him, cueing him that he had said the wrong thing. Swallowing, he added, “Thank you?” This seemed to satisfy them, and Antonio got up from the table. He took Francis’ place at the stove. 

“I’ll take over breakfast,” he said gently. “You two have some things to talk through.”

Now, anyone not as emotionally compromised as Francis would have reacted in a more sensible manner. They would have approached Arthur with caution, probably asking him to join them in another room so that they could have some privacy and talk about what had happened. 

However, Francis was as emotionally compromised as himself, so he did none of those things. Instead, he raced over to Arthur and crushed him in a hug. Upon hearing Arthur’s gasp of slight pain, he released the Brit and immediately started sobbing. Confused, Arthur took Francis back into his arms, much gentler, and rubbed his back with one hand while combing through his long locks with the other. Francis held him, too, carefully, like he was afraid Arthur would break. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said between sobs. “I walked into your room and thought you’d died.”

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing he would have felt the same if he had walked into Francis’ room and found him in that state. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into Francis’ ear. Before he could finish explaining himself, Francis picked himself off of his shoulder, giving him an incredulous look.

“You have nothing to be sorry for--I’m the one that fucked up!” he nearly yelled, making Arthur flinch.

Gilbert made a move to get up. “Francis,” he warned.

But Francis wasn’t done. “No, I’m the one who left. I told you I would always be there and--and pushed you, and then you woke up alone.” His breath was coming in heavy gasps. He tried to blink away tears to no avail. “And I knew… I knew you weren’t ready for more, and I knew that you weren’t okay, but I thought with my dick and scared you off and--”

There was no stopping Francis with words, Arthur knew, so he shut him up another way. He kissed him, not particularly hard, but enough to get him to stop talking. “Francis,” he said, giving him a gentler kiss. “Shut up.” When they broke apart for real, Arthur took him by the hand and pulled him into the next room.

“You’re making no sense,” he said, staring into Francis’ eyes and trying to analyze what the bloody hell he was going on about. “You didn’t push me. Or scare me off.”

“Then why did you leave?” he asked, voice breaking near the end. “I came back for you, and you were already gone from the hotel.” 

“You came back? What?” Arthur was so confused that his head threatened to start hurting again. “Why don’t you tell me where you went?” he asked, feeling anger spike in his chest. “Why did you leave? And why in the bloody hell did you follow me back to my house?”

Francis looked down, guilt washing over his face. “I… Gil and Toni were begging to go down for breakfast, and I knew it was closing soon. You were still sleeping by the time I was ready to go, and I didn’t want to disturb you. You looked so peaceful… I wrote you a note telling you to come down for breakfast and left.” He paused for a moment, collecting himself while still looking at the ground. “When you didn’t come down, we made a plate to bring up for you, but you were already gone by the time we got there. I panicked… I knew I did wrong, and I wanted to make it right. So, we came back here figuring that’s where you ran off to. When we got here…” Francis looked like he was going to burst out into tears again. He couldn’t finish his sentence, so Arthur did.

“I had already passed out?” he asked, and Francis shook his head.

“I wanted to take you to the hospital then and there, but Gil thought it was better to keep you here,” Francis replied. He finally met Arthur’s gaze, and the brokenness of his eyes, his soul, broke Arthur’s heart more than waking up alone. Even after everything, he was still hopelessly in love with Francis. “I’m so, so sorry, Arthur. I shouldn’t have pushed you further than you were willing to go.” He started crying again. Well, it was more like wailing, and took his hand once more and brought him over to the couch to sit. Things were finally starting to make sense, and Arthur knew he needed to clear up his side if Francis was ever going to stop crying.

“Francis, you didn’t push.” Francis opened his mouth to say something else, but Arthur put a finger over his lips. “Listen, Francis. I said I wanted you, and I did.” I still do, he thought, but he left it unsaid. “You didn’t push me, I promise. I left because… because I thought you were like everyone else.” He shrugged pathetically, realizing then how dumb this whole situation was and how terribly out of hand it got. “I’ve been left to wake up alone several times, and… I was so scared you would do the same. You’re a kind person, and I know that, but… it’s been hard to accept that you wouldn’t do that. That’s why I turned you down so many times. And I figured that eventually you would get tired of being turned down and you would leave. That would have been easier to deal with, honestly.”

Francis looked at him, taking his hands and thumbing the bandages around his wrists. “But that’s not all, is it?” he asked solemnly like he already knew the other reason.

“No,” Arthur admitted. “There’s no point in trying to hide the fact that I… cut. I thought the hotel room would be dark enough for you to not see my scars.”

Francis shook his head. “I didn’t see them.” He took a deep breath, finally getting his tears to subside for the time being. “Not until I washed you.”

“So, you technically got your bath time that you wanted,” Arthur asked, smirking a bit for some fucked up reason.

Francis frowned at him. “It’s not funny,” he said. His frown deepened when Arthur started laughing. The Brit couldn’t help it. So much pain and suffering over a simple miscommunication. “Arthur, stop laughing.” But Arthur couldn’t stop.

“We’re such idiots,” he wheezed, and Francis’ chuckle turned into laughter, too.

He nodded. “We really are.”

Their laughter died down, and their gazes met. Arthur really wanted to kiss Francis again, but they still had some things to sort out first. 

“So,” Arthur started. He waited a second before trying again. “We’ve basically sorted out everything after our, um, night together. But what about it itself?” Francis raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not understanding what Arthur was trying to say. “Why did you sleep with me? Is that just a normal thing for you to do?” Did you do it because you like me? Arthur wanted to ask, but even still he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Francis shook his head, looking up at the ceiling. “Sacré bleu, Arthur. You truly are an idiot.”

Arthur swatted Francis on the shoulder. “Shut up and answer my question, frog.”

Francis met his gaze, and Arthur felt entrapped in the best way. The light was back, twinkling with that familiar Francis charm that Arthur had grown to love. “Mon cher,” Francis said, scooting closer to him on the couch, taking one of Arthur’s hands in his while the other one reached up and caressed his face gently, running over his cheekbone. Arthur could see the hesitation in his eyes, in the way that he slightly bit his bottom lip, in the way his shoulders tensed back up. It was like he was holding back, bottling up whatever he wanted to say.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, holding his hand as well. The world seemed to stop. No one else existed but Arthur and Francis. Arthur couldn’t hear anything but the mixed sounds of their breathing and his own heartbeat. Everything else faded into the background as they locked eyes, staring right through, staring at everything they were, everything they had been, accepting every highlight and flaw.

“I love you,” he whispered. He leaned in to kiss Arthur, but the other boy moved back.

“Do you really mean it?” he whispered back like any loud noise would snap the tension in the air and their moment would be gone. “Because, if you don’t, I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“I mean it, mon cher.” Francis smiled at him, soft and sweet, and if Arthur didn’t already love him, he would have fallen in that moment. “I mean it more than anything I’ve ever said in my life.”

That time when Francis leaned in for the kiss, Arthur leaned in, too. It was slow, sensual, taking Arthur apart and building him again. When they parted, they stayed close, both out of breath, looking slightly scared at what the other would do. 

Arthur took a deep breath, finally ready to accept reality. “I love you, too,” he murmured against Francis’ lips.

They kissed again, for a long while, never parting. They let everything out; all the fears of losing the other, the relief of being together once more, and the hope that they would never have to be apart from the other ever again.

But of course, this was Arthur and Francis, and they were notorious for never being able to keep their hands to themselves when the other was around. Arthur laid Francis down on the couch, settling on top of him, and continued their kissing. Francis grinned, and grabbed Arthur’s butt, causing Arthur to gasp since he was only in boxers. He stopped kissing Francis and glared at him. Francis smiled back at him, unashamed. Arthur rolled his eyes, failing to fight off the matching smile and kissed Francis again.

“Never leave me alone again,” Arthur breathed against his lips. 

Francis kissed him harder. “I would never dream of it.”

While they kissed, Arthur felt himself become whole again, with his hands threaded in Francis’ hair, the Frenchman’s hands on his arse, laying on top of the love of his life without the fears he’d harboured for so long. They were lost in their own little realm like they had teleported to the land of Arthur and Francis.

That was until Gilbert and Antonio walked in, and Gilbert coughed, getting their attention. Antonio was flushed behind them, looking like he’d walked in on them doing the act, though they’d only been kissing.

“Don’t look so startled,” Francis grinned from under Arthur. “You’ve done worse.”

Antonio found his socks suddenly very interesting, fascinating, really, and made it his sole duty to stare at them. He looked like a tomato at that point. Gilbert and Francis laughed, and Arthur couldn’t help but grin, quite curious as to how far Antonio had ever gone. He seemed as innocent as a child, but Arthur doubted that was an adequate portrayal of Antonio.

“Breakfast is getting cold,” Gilbert grinned and steered Antonio back to the kitchen.

Arthur looked back at Francis, only to find that the boy was already looking at him. “Should we go eat?” he asked.

Arthur found himself smiling, happy for the first time in what felt like forever. “Yes. I’m starving.”

They walked into the kitchen hand-in-hand, content in the silence that spoke volumes. When they got to the kitchen, Antonio was pouring boiling water into a teapot, still looking quite flushed while Gilbert seemed to be in the middle of making fun of him.

Everything was already set on the table, the breakfast sausages in a porcelain pot on top of some paper towel to soak up the grease, the eggs in a similar container, and the crepes were on a glass dish with a matching lid. There were cups and plates set out for everyone, as well and utensils for eating and picking up food from each dish. It all looked splendid. Arthur almost felt bad for making them do all of this.

Francis seemed to sense this, and tugged his hand, getting his attention. “It was Toni’s idea,” he said. “He prefers serving people rather than being served. Makes him feel useful.”

Gilbert started cackling about something as Antonio whipped him with a dishtowel. “Apparently that’s not the only thing he likes,” he wheezed, which earned him more towel whips. 

Francis helped Arthur get seated at the table, sliding his chair under him like a true gentleman. It ticked Arthur off a bit since he liked to be the gentleman, but he let it go. For now. “What did Antonio do?” he asked, not caring to quell his curiosity.

Gilbert grinned at the Spaniard as he sat down, the blush never fading. “Yeah, Toni,” Francis piped up, wearing the same shit-eating grin as Gilbert. “What did you do?” Gilbert was practically bouncing in his seat with anticipation, no doubt knowing what Antonio had done.

The Spaniard poured tea for everyone into their teacups, ignoring his friends. Arthur wondered how long it took them to find everything but didn’t ponder too much on it, far more amused by the situation at hand. It felt nice to not be the center of attention for a bit, and he intended on enjoying every second of it.

When Antonio finally settled, having nothing else to do, he sighed. “Why do you want to know so badly?” he asked, his face a mixture of embarrassment and regret for not having less nosy friends.

“Because we’re assholes,” Gilbert said, stuffing his mouth full of breakfast sausages. Francis nodded in agreement. “Now, spill.”

Antonio sighed in exasperation. “Okay, well,” he started, rolling his food around on his plate. “You know how I got an early acceptance to the American university?” Francis nodded, blatantly eager to know more. “Well, Lovi is there.”

“What?!” Francis yelled, jaw-dropping to the floor. “Wh--How?!”

Antonio smiled. He looked scared, but hopeful still. “His family moved there a couple of years after he left Spain. His younger brother and Gil’s younger brother have started… talking.”

Gilbert stuffed crepes into his mouth. “They’re dating.”

Francis leaned back in his chair. “We were right. Little Ludwig is gay after all.”

Arthur cut in. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but who, what, when, where?”

The trio gave each other some looks, then took turns explaining. Francis started, “So, Toni is from Spain, I told you that before. Several years ago, a family friend, who’s our age, came to live with him. That’s Lovino. He’s Italian.”

“Basically,” Gilbert picked up, “Toni fell hard for him but never had the balls to make a move.” His grin returned. “Or so he told us.”

Antonio seemed about ready to melt into the floor to escape the scrutinizing glare of Francis. 

“Antonio Fernandez Carriedo,” Francis said, causing Antonio to finally meet his gaze. “Did you lie to us?” Ever the drama queen, Francis put a hand over his heart and cried dramatically, “How could you?”

Arthur facepalmed at his theatrics. Francis was indeed a dramatic idiot, but he was Arthur’s dramatic idiot, so what did that say about him?

It seemed to calm Antonio down though. He bit his lip and chuckled. “Yeah, I did.” Everyone stared at him, wanting some sort of explanation. With a deep breath, Antonio looked up at the ceiling like he was accepting his fate. “Before Lovi left, we… had sex.”

Francis squealed, and Gilbert patted Antonio on the back. Arthur nodded in approval. “Mon Deiu,” Francis laughed. “You’re moving to America because someone dicked you that good?”

“Hey,” Antonio complained. “I’m not moving to America because of that. I’m moving there because Lovino means a lot to me, and it’s a miracle that we found each other again in the first place. Also,” he added, smirking in a way that showed Arthur why he was a part of the trio. “I dicked him.”

Francis gasped, while Antonio smiled into his cup, drinking more tea. Gilbert gave Francis a very serious nod. “I know. I thought he was a bottom, too.”

That made Arthur outright laugh, which seemed to lighten up everyone’s demeanour.

“Which brings us to grilling you two,” Gilbert grinned, maple syrup covering his lips like an extremely sticky gloss.

“Please,” Antonio huffed, finally eating his food. “Anything to get the attention off of me.”

Arthur was almost dumbstruck. After everything that had happened, they wanted to talk about sex? Seriously? How immature could these dorks get? But then it clicked in Arthur’s fogged up brain that it wasn’t the want to talk about sex--they wanted him to focus on something else. They knew that he was itching to go to the parlour and grab a bottle and shut himself away. They knew that he could burst into tears at any moment. They knew that he felt so much worse than how he looked.

Arthur tuned out, wrapping himself in his thoughts while Francis was pummeled with questions. The Brit didn’t even know who was saying what. Everything faded into nothing, like the background of an old photo. 

These three were doing so much for him, and two of them had known him for barely a few days. Gilbert had made him feel useful by chatting with him, Antonio had made him food, Francis made him feel special, and altogether they had saved him from potential death by alcohol poisoning. These blokes had helped Arthur more than his own family had. He hated to admit it, but if he had let them in on how he felt, they could have saved him from all the pain of the last few days. Even more, they wanted to help him. They weren’t obligated to--they could have just kept enjoying their vacation without him, but they didn’t. They’d found and rescued him from himself. If he had just let them in… and if he let them in, too. 

He snapped back to reality when Gilbert let out an exasperated huff.

“You’re lame, Francis,” Gilbert whined, sliding his plate away and flopping himself onto the table. “You always tell us these things.”

Arthur looked at Francis. “What was the question?”

Francis rolled his eyes at his bummed out friends and gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze. “Who topped who, which is none of their business,” he said, shooting his friend's glares.

Arthur bit his lip to hold back a grin. “Francis topped me,” he blurted, and then he was getting glares from Francis, though they were diluted with disbelief. 

Antonio laughed softly into his cup--how much tea had he made?--before smiling at Francis. “I like him more than you. He’s cooler. He tells us things.”

Francis let out a gasp of surprise and insult while Arthur laughed. He’d been laughing so much around this trio. He didn’t like the idea of them leaving. They would be so far away, over in America, just like… 

Arthur rose from the table. “Pardon me,” he said. “I have a phone call to make.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Finally got all of my exams done, and my major work out of the way.   
> Here's a new chapter for you to indulge in, and I'll be back again soon with some more content.  
> As always, I appreciate the love and support on all of my fics.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

Arthur sat on the couch, head in his hands, phone beside him somewhere to his left. He was stalling, too scared to call his aunt, too ashamed to face how he’d been the last time he’d spoken to his cousin.

_ Life isn’t easy. You’ll learn that soon enough. _

Arthur still couldn’t believe that he had ever said that to the poor boy. It was like he’d cursed him, waved the magic wand of pain and punished his cousin simply for asking why he was sad. The boy knew life wasn’t easy now, that was for sure. 

Taking a deep breath in, Arthur slowly reached for his phone, deciding it was best to call his aunt and get this over with and off of his chest before his lungs were crushed by the guilt.

_ Ring. Ring. Ring. Click. “Hello?” _ a female voice said, and Arthur can’t help but hold his breath. So familiar. He nearly started sobbing then and there from the overwhelming relief that she even answered. 

“Auntie, it’s Arthur,” he replied, holding the receiver away after so she couldn’t hear his shaky breaths and choked sobs. 

A cry of joy made Arthur hold the phone even farther from his ear, then his aunt was talking again.  _ “Love, it’s so good to hear from you! How are you? How’s school? Tell me everything!”  _

Arthur could picture her in his mind; the way she goes slightly sporadic when she’s excited, plopping herself on the couch but still holding her back perfectly straight. The way her eyes shine like stars when she’s happy, or mischievous. Her sons got that trait from her.

“It’s, uhh…” Arthur had half the mind to just lie to her, let her hear what she wanted to hear, keep the stars burning bright and not bring her down with the bad news of how he’s actually been doing. But there was something in her voice… a sincerity that made him want to open up. That’s why he called, isn’t it? 

“To be honest, Auntie, it’s not been the best.” He looked at the ceiling, focusing on how the chandelier glints in the morning light flooding through the open curtains, blinking away the tears forming in his eyes.

His aunt gasped.  _ “Why? Sweetie, what’s going on?” What can I do _ is what she’s really asking, Arthur knew this, but he didn’t want to burden her. He heard a voice in his mind reminding him that he’s not a burden, and it sounded suspiciously like Francis.  _ “Arthur?” _ she asked when he took too long to answer.

“I…” his voice died in his throat. It was like he was fighting a trap door over his vocal chords just to speak. What should he even say? Should he tell his aunt that he almost wound up in the hospital from a psychotic episode? No, that would crush her. He rubbed a hand over his face, struggling to just _ come out with it. “ _ I’ve been… struggling a lot. Mum and Dad aren’t here, so I’ve been living alone for most of the time--” he could tell by the sharp intake that she’d held back her comments on her sister’s parenting skills, or lack thereof, and he appreciated it-- “and I’ve been… doing some things that aren’t… good for me.”

Great. Now he sounded like a druggie. It wasn’t that far off, really, but not exactly how he wanted it to come out.

She waited a moment before asking, _ “What have you been doing?” _ He could hear the fear in his aunt’s voice, and he hated that he was the cause of it. _ “Arthur, darling, you can talk to me.”  _ He almost laughed from the way she sounded like she’s talking to her own kids, though he knows that she probably can’t help it. She did work with a day-care, after all, and had always looked at Arthur like he was her own. 

“I’ve been…” He didn’t want to disappoint her more than he knows he must have already. But…  _ she’s thinking of the worst, it’s what moms (and aunts) do. “ _ Drinking.” It came out as a whisper, fear closing off his vocal chords until he could barely get the word out. “And… and hurting myself.”

He heard her moving to another room, probably one more private, and closed the door. There was a loud sniff that made him want to punch himself, because now he’d make his aunt cry. On Christmas Holidays, too. 

To his surprise, she didn’t sound mad when she answered, like he had expected her to. And there was no pity in her voice, though there was this underlying tone of sadness and desperation when she spoke. _ “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” _

“I was too far gone,” he admitted. “I really thought that no one would do anything. I… A lot of people have used me in ways that I didn’t know people ever would when I was just looking for help. I started to feel like no one would care.”

She sobbed again. _ “Oh, Arthur.” _

Though he could definitely unload more onto her, he decided to give her some good news. “But, I met someone who changed my mind.”

Another loud sniff was followed by,  _ “That’s wonderful, dear. What’s his name?” _

Arthur smiled to himself. Of course she knows he’s gay. He’d never properly come out to her, but the woman knows everything. “Francis. He’s from France. His family owns businesses all over Europe, and some in America, too. They moved here several months ago. We met at school.” He left out the whole fuck-buddy aspect that their relationship. His aunt doesn’t need to know that--she would definitely lose her mind over that. Would probably hang him over a cross and exorcise him, thinking he’d been possessed by irrationality.

_ “And he’s good to you?”  _ she asked. The hope in her voice was painfully obvious, though Arthur couldn’t really blame her since he did just admit that people had used him a lot.

Arthur nodded, closing his eyes and falling back into the couch. “He is. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if he’s too good to me.” Arthur gave a dry laugh, adding, “In retrospect, I don’t think I do enough for him.”

_ “How long have you to… been together?” _

“Well… we, um.” God, that was a good question. Should he count all of the fuck buddy time? But he had already told himself that he wouldn’t tell her about that. “We just made it official today, but we’ve been… seeing each other for a while,” he replied carefully, praying that she wouldn’t look too far into his words.

Her sigh of relief crackled over the phone. _ “I’m glad you’ve found someone to support you, but, Arthur, you shouldn’t be alone--” _

“We’re together nearly all the time,” he cut in. “And now he knows everything I’ve been… doing. He understands, and is way more than willing to stay with me and help. Honestly,” Arthur can’t help but chuckle, rubbing his face over his hand and through his hair, “it’s almost ridiculous.”

_ “But you like it,”  _ his aunt teased, and it was good to hear that she was no longer crying.

“I do,” Arthur admitted, and he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. 

There was a bit of commotion on the other line, but before Arthur could question it too much, his aunt said, _ “Someone wants to talk to you.” _

Before he could respond (things must be so fast paced in America or something. He barely had time to think during this phone call) there was a young, cheery voice talking to him. _ “Arthur!” _

He had to try not to bust into tears then and there. It had been so long. _ “Hey, Alfred. How are you?” _

_“I’m okay--guess what Ivan did at school!”_ And then he was off, telling Arthur all about how this boy from school had pissed him off to no end (without those words, of course), and Arthur spoke when needed. This was even harder than talking to his aunt. At least he could be honest, or close to it, with her. He couldn’t let Alfred know about his pain. The poor kid had been through enough in his childhood. Fuck, Arthur really should have been there for him more than he was. Instead, he had occupied himself with hook ups that led to nowhere except heartbreak, and drinking his problems away. The pain was still audible in his younger cousins’ voice. It was in every slight gasp and shakiness, the way he rushed from topic to topic without giving himself a chance to think.

_ “Arthur?”  _ Alfred asked, and Arthur pulled himself back to reality. 

“Yeah?” he asked. 

_ “Are you still sad?”  _ Alfred sounded so confused, and Arthur could do nothing to really explain himself.

“I’m getting better,” he replied, and it took all of his willpower to not dump apologies onto the boy for everything he’d ever done wrong. “I’m better than I was before.”

_ “You promise?” _ Alfred asked. 

Arthur put a hand over his mouth to hold back his sobs, pulling away the receiver from his mouth. Swallowing down his emotions, he took a deep breath and brought the phone back. “I promise.” 

_ “Are you coming over for Christmas break?” _ Arthur asked, and Arthur didn’t know what to tell him. So, he did what he did best.

He lied.

“I’ll see if I can,” he said, before he could really conceive how weighted his words were, and how much they would mean to the broken boy on the other end of the phone line.

“ _ Yay! I’m telling Mom and Dad and Mattie that you’re coming!” _ Alfred cheered. Before Arthur could beg him to keep his little mouth shut, he heard Alfred telling the rest of the family, and the happy cheers from his uncle, the soft laughter of Mattie, and his aunt yelling with joy. 

_ “Are you really?” _ his aunt said. She must have grabbed the phone back from Alfred.  _ “Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad. Bring Francis, if you can--I’d love to meet him.” _ Once again, Arthur damned America for being such a fast-paced country, because his aunt was already saying, “ _ So sorry to cut the conversation, Love, but someone’s at the door. Text me whenever you have the information for your flight. You can stay with us. I love you.” _ With one last audible kiss to the phone, his aunt hung up.

Arthur tossed his phone back onto the couch, ready to scream over his own idiocy when he realised the trio was in the doorway.

“We’re going to America?” they all said. Upon seeing their matching grins, Arthur knew only one thing in that moment.

They were going to America.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> I hope everyone had an awesome Valentine's Day. If you were alone on Valentine's, that's dope, too. Self-love is the best love.   
> Thank you for being patient with my slow-working ass, and giving me, like, all of the time in the world to get this chapter out.   
> Hope you guys like it.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

This was crazy. No, crazy didn’t describe this situation well enough. Reckless, irresponsible, and a new level of stupid. Damn Francis for having practically unlimited money, because he was buying two round tickets for himself and Arthur, a one-way for Gilbert since he lived exactly where they were going, and tickets for Antonio to be able to go to America and then back to Spain to pick up his things for school and then back to America  _ again _ , to live there.

This had to be, without a doubt, the most insane plan Arthur had ever been a part of. But… there was just no stopping these three. They peer-pressured him, with their charming smiles and excitement, into calling his aunt and checking that they could all come. She accepted without hesitation. Anything for Arthur to visit, he guessed. He really should have gone back to visit sooner, before he became an absolute mess. He just prayed she, or anyone else, wouldn’t see his many injuries.

The four boys packed their things, which didn’t take long considering that Gilbert and Antonio had already been packed for the duration of their stay, and that Francis and Arthur could pack quite quickly. They left on the same day that Arthur had called his aunt, getting last minute night-time tickets. 

Arthur had liked planes ever since he was a kid. He had actually wanted to be a pilot. His parents had gotten him toy planes to build and “fly” years ago. He used to try and show them, but all he got was distracted, “that looks good,” or, “well done, Arthur”. 

He’d also loved plane rides. The feeling of being so high in the air exhilarated him, yet calmed him at the same time. Especially during nighttime. It felt so incredible to know that you were fading away into the night sky, almost like you were joining the stars, looking at all of the lights below them and seeing how small people actually were. He loved it. Apparently Gilbert did not feel the same way.

Antonio was sitting beside Gilbert in the window seat, holding his hand to prevent him from running off into the aisle. They made small talk for the whole take off (more like Antonio talked about everything they could do in America while Gilbert tried not to vomit from the fear of turbulence). 

It was clear that Antonio was distracted, however. He kept looking at the time on his phone, bouncing his leg, and couldn’t seem to focus on the movie playing in front of him. Arthur figured it was because he would finally be seeing… What was his name again? Lovino? Right, he’d be seeing Lovino, in person, for the first time in years. He could only imagine the things running through Antonio’s head. 

Francis was asleep beside Arthur in the aisle seat, head resting on his shoulder. Apparently, plane rides made Francis very sleepy. There had been bets placed in the airport back in London between the trio, claiming that Francis would definitely fall asleep while he insisted he wouldn’t. Guess he lost  £20. Arthur was tempted to join him, but was too occupied trying to commit how warm Francis was pressed beside him, how even his breaths were, and how at peace he seemed to his memory.

But the last couple of days had been extremely stressful for Arthur, and he eventually succumbed to his exhaustion.

When Arthur awoke, the plane was landing, and it was clearly morning. Maybe around 8:30am? He yawned, looking across the aisle to see Antonio holding Gilbert, looking like he had too many regrets, while Gilbert was seemingly trying not to cry. Antonio gave him a crooked smile, shaking his head subtly to show that he had it covered. Or to show that he was extremely done with Gilbert. It was likely a bit of both.

Francis was just beginning to wake up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Arthur was kind of sad when he lifted his head off of the Brit’s shoulder, but was pleased when Francis gave him a peck on the cheek.

“We here?” he asked, voice groggy with sleep. Arthur found it strangely hot.

“Just landing,” he replied, going in for a kiss.

“Perfect,” Francis smiled, leaning in as well. 

They waited for their luggage in anything but silence. Honestly, Arthur was surprised that they weren’t kicked out. If the airport had been any quieter, they would have been escorted out for sure.

Gilbert was complimenting himself on supposedly doing better on the plane then last time (Arthur didn’t even want to imagine how bad last time had been, then). Apparently, flying over from America on his own had been  _ hell _ . So much so that he succumbed and took the Xanax that his older cousin had prescribed him (he was a doctor, and although he was just starting out in clinics and drug prescription, apparently it was okay). 

Antonio was shifting from being lost in his own world to flat out panicking about seeing Lovino. Arthur did his best to comfort him, though he didn’t really know how. Antonio had a lot to be worried about. He was leaving his whole life behind, however shitty it may be with abusive parents, for this dude he had lived with nearly three years prior and hadn’t seen since. That was some overwhelming stuff, truly, and Arthur did his best to reassure him that, yes, Antonio, Lovino is very excited to see you, and no, Antonio, he will not just turn you away at the door.

Francis was panicking for a whole other reason. He was meeting Arthur’s family, and for some reason, he was fanning himself furiously, claiming that he “should have brought better outfits” and “had to know as much about them as he could”. He was asking Arthur every question about them as he could, and Arthur was doing his best to answer loud enough for Francis to hear him over all of the noise surrounding them. 

Between the three of them, Arthur was having trouble thinking his own thoughts. He barely had time to consider what he was going to tell his family. He prayed that Matthew and Alfred wouldn’t tear him apart for not coming sooner. Especially Matthew.

“ARTHUR!” he heard them (mostly Alfred) yell. It was his only warning before he was being tackled by the over energised, 5 ft some sized gremlins that were also known as his cousins. It was like Arthur had summoned them just by thinking about them.

“Hey,” he laughed, trying to pull them around for a proper hug. Matthew clug to his side, and, man, that kid had a good grip. He blamed hockey practice. Alfred had managed to climb up his back, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and his legs around his waist. They could actually connect now. Arthur felt himself start to get emotional over how much these two had grown since he’d last seen them. Their embraces stug the cuts over his torso, but Arthur wouldn’t have moved them no matter what.

“Boys,” a woman’s voice called. “Arthur is  _ not _ your jungle-gym!” Alfred dropped down and Matthew stopped trying to morph himself into Arthur’s ribs. “Arthur!” his aunt squealed, opening her arms so Arthur could hug her. She was already crying. Arthur barely stopped himself from running right into her, nearly knocking her over, feeling like he was going to cry himself. He didn’t miss how gently she hugged him, like she was scared of breaking him. 

When they finally parted, he realised his uncle was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Uncle?” he asked timidly. Did his aunt tell her husband about what he’d confessed to over the phone? Was he mad at Arthur? Before Arthur could work himself up too much, his aunt ran her hands through his hair.

“He’s making breakfast at home,” she said. Leaning around Arthur to look at the trio, she added, “We thought you’d all be hungry.” There were cheers from the trio, and Arthur rolled his eyes. These three and food.

“Auntie,” he said, gesturing to each boy respectively, “this is Antonio, Gilbert, and… Francis.”

Alfred piped up, glaring at Francis before asking, “Are you Arthur’s boyfriend?” Mattie tugged on his sleeve in disapproval.

Francis smiled, looking down at the twins. “I am. You’re Alfed and Matthew, right?” When the two boys nodded, Francis added, “Arthur’s told me wonderful things about you boys.”

This seemed to get Alfred’s approval, and he gave Francis a big grin. Mattie smiled softly, before throwing Francis for a loop. “Comment ça va?”

“Je vais bien. Vous?” he replied, clearly ecstatic over the fact that he had someone to speak his first language with. It made Arthur feel like he should have spoken it to him more. He filed it away for later, deciding to wait for the time when he could.

Mattie only smiled in response, small, but there. His circular glasses looked almost too big on him, yet he was surpassing Alfred in height by a bit, and losing that child-like softness about him. He looked far older than thirteen. Oh wait, their birthday had just passed. So, fourteen, then.

“Matthew’s been working on his french,” Arthur’s aunt said, smiling proudly down at her son.

“It sounds wonderful,” Gilbert commented, and Mattie blushed, looking at the ground. 

_ Oh,  _ Arthur thought, watching at how Matthew would steal quick glances at Gilbert while he took the luggage off of the conveyor belt.  _ That’s… interesting. _ He decided not to say anything.

It was a blessing that Arthur’s aunt owned a van, because it was a very,  _ very _ full ride. The trio were separated for the safety of everyone in the vehicle. Francis was up in the passenger seat, talking away with Arthur’s aunt, Arthur sat beside Antonio in the middle seats, and Gilbert was sitting between the twins in the very back. Though he didn’t turn around, he listened to Matthew shyly ask Gilbert questions. It was hilarious and adorable at once.

“So,” Mattie started, quiet as a mouse. “Where are you from?”

Gilbert replied, “I was born in Eastern Germany.” Arthur had never heard him talk so gently before. He imagined it was similar to how Gilbert talked to his own younger brother. He was around Matthew and Alfred’s age, too.

“Do you still speak German?” Alfred asked, like Gilbert’s accent wasn’t a dead giveaway.

“Ja,” Gilbert replied. “Deutsch ist meine Muttersprache.”

“What does that mean?” Mattie asked, sounding transfixed by Gilbert’s voice. Oh, God. Mattie was crushing on Gilbert! Arthur made eye contact with Antonio, who had clearly caught on, too. They both had to try their hardest not to laugh, though Arthur wasn’t sure they’d make it through the rest of the car ride.

“It means, ‘German is my first language’,” Gilbert replied. He sounded so happy to teach someone. He must have missed his younger brother more than he let on.

Alfred leaned around the seats to talk to Antonio. “Do you speak another language?” he asked. 

Antonio turned so they could face each other, as much as the seatbelts would allow, and replied. “Si. Hablo español y soy de España. Yes. I speak Spanish, and I’m from Spain.” 

Alfred took turns between asking Gilbert and Antonio to say things in their respective first languages, and nearly lost it when Antonio started to speak a bit of Italian. 

“His boyfriend speaks Italian,” Gilbert smirked, and Antonio whipped his head at him.

“He’s  _ not _ \--”

“Gentlemen, please,” Francis sighed. “Not in front of Arthur’s family.”

“Sorry,” Gilbert laughed, and Antonio chuckled. “We didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your future in laws.”

Francis sputtered in the front seat, going red as a rose, while Arthur and his family cackled. 

Thankfully for Francis, they pulled into the Jones’ laneway shortly after, and he made himself busy unloading the suitcases with Gilbert. Mattie seemed to stick around. 

“Need any help?” he asked timidly. Arthur was surprised that Gilbert heard him. The fact that he had made Mattie swoon visibly. 

“Ja,” he said, handing him Antonio’s suitcase. “Would you wheel this in? We have no clue what’s going where, either, so maybe you could be our guide.” He smiled his lopsided grin, and Arthur was sure Mattie’s soul had just left his body. He nodded quickly, nearly knocking off his glasses, before taking the suitcase from Gilbert and heading into the house, followed by Gilbert and Francis. 

Antonio went inside with Arthur, staying close to him. Arthur offered him his sleeve, having seen Antonio hold Francis and Gilbert’s sleeves on many occasions. Antonio accepted his offer with a small smile.

While the other two brought their suitcases in with Mattie (Gilbert brought two in at once, and Mattie looked like he was going to faint. How was Gilbert unaware of any of this?), Arthur introduced Antonio to his uncle, and they helped set the table. Pretty soon, they were all seated. Mr. Jones was first in the row, Mrs. Jones to his right, Arthur beside her, and Francis beside him. On the other side was Alfred across from his father, Mattie beside him, Gilbert beside him (to Mattie’s delight), and Antonio at the end, across from Francis. A pretty good layout, if Arthur did say so himself.

The Jones’ had made an abundance of food, much to the boys’ delight. They were so hungry after their flight from London. Arthur’s aunt and uncle asked them all questions, though they clearly focused on Arthur. 

“How’ve you been lately, bud?” Mr. Jones asked, cutting into his waffles. Mrs. Jones had clearly not told him how Arthur had been doing. 

“I’ve been doing okay,” he lied, ignoring the pointed looks coming from four different places at the table. “Been very busy with school.”

“Got any plans for after?” Mr. Jones asked. Arthur fumbled, before reaching back to what Francis had said months ago. 

“Psychology,” he replied. 

His aunt smiled at him. “You’d be good at that, darling.” She gave his hand a squeeze, and he smiled back at her. 

After breakfast, the twins ran off to their at-the-moment shared room. Antonio excused himself so he could go unpack, leaving an awkward Gilbert behind to explain that he lived roughly twenty minutes away and would be staying at his house. 

“I wouldn’t want to burden you with more people to look after,” he said, looking highly uncomfortable at the thought of possibly burdening these people who had shown them all such kindness at a moment's notice. 

“Darling,” Mrs. Jones said, taking him by the hands and smiling brightly. “We would be happy to have you stay.”

Gilbert was blinking a little faster, and he looked at the floor. “Thank you,” he mumbled, then cleared his throat. “I better go help Toni unpack our stuff.” He darted up the stairs, leaving a confused Mrs. Jones behind. 

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, looking at Francis and Arthur with concern.

Francis took a deep breath, seemingly bracing himself for what was next. “No, it wasn’t you. Um, maybe don’t tell him I told you, but… Gil lost his mom when he was a kid, and then was raised by men for most of the rest of his life. Sometimes acts of kindness from women just make him emotional, and he hates people seeing him cry.”

Mrs. Jones put a hand over her heart. “Oh, that poor boy. He never got to heal.”

Francis gave her a smile. “He really didn’t. He lost his dad a few years back, too. He’s… emotionally fragile at the moment. He means well, and is very grateful for everything you’ve done already.”

Mrs. Jones nodded, opening her mouth like she was going to say something, but closed it. After a moment, she turned to Arthur and Francis. “You two are in the guestroom at the end of the hall. You should go unpack.”

The two boys nodded, going upstairs to unpack their things.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> This chapter is really short, but I thought that it would be worth posting anyway.  
> I'll try to get something longer out soon.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

Gilbert ended up staying, much to everyone’s delight. Later that night, while they were getting ready for bed, Francis told Arthur that both Antonio and Gilbert slept better when they were with someone they trusted.

“One time,” Francis said, while brushing his hair in front of a mirror, “we put Toni and Gil in separate rooms at my place. When I went to wake them up the next morning, they were both curled up in Gil’s bed.”

Arthur laughed. “If Antonio wasn’t so obsessed with Lovino, I would think that he and Gil were a thing.”

Francis chuckled at that, setting his hairbrush down before making his way over to the bed where Arthur was already laying down, once again reading a paperback novel. He moved it off of his chest so that his boyfriend (Arthur still couldn’t get over that. Francis was  _ his _ . He wanted to be with Arthur--chose to be with Arthur instead of anyone else. Arthur's heart pounded at the thought of it) could lay on his chest. The Brit wrapped one arm around his boyfriend, playing absentmindedly with the ends of his soft hair. Francis hummed in approval when Arthur scratched his scalp, snuggling further into Arthur’s chest. He jumped when Francis suddenly kissed the bit of collar bone that poked out above his long-sleeved shirt, making his boyfriend (Arthur was going to think that as many times as he could) laugh.

“Pardon moi, mon cher,” he said, moving up the bed to kiss Arthur’s cheek. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Lying frog,” Arthur retorted, but set down his novel to hold his boyfriend close all the same. Right as they were going to go in for the kiss, there was a knock at the door. Francis moved so that Arthur could get off of the bed to answer the door.

It was Mrs. Jones, but she seemed off. She was wringing her hands together, and had been looking down the hall toward her and her husband’s bedroom when Arthur had opened his door.

She tried to snap out of it when she realised her nephew was looking at her with concern. “I just wanted to talk with you before we went to bed.”

Silently, Arthur stepped out of the way and opened the door wider, allowing his aunt in. Panic closed his throat over. Was this when she’d finally yell at him for being a stupid git and not calling her for help sooner? Or was she going to try and convince him to come and live with the Jones’? Or was she going to make Francis move to a different room? Somehow the last one seemed to scare Arthur the most. The first two he could deal with, but the last… 

Mrs. Jones’ plopped herself on the bed, and looked very much like her sons for a moment. Her dirty blonde hair was definitely more Alfred’s colour, but her eyes were near purple like Mattie’s. She had those same expressive features that always betrayed how she felt, and a sense of welcoming to her. Arthur closed the door.

“I didn’t tell your uncle about our conversation,” she confessed. “I was so grateful that you had been able to trust me with that information that I… I didn’t want to ruin that. If you don’t want him to know, then I won’t say a word. But if you do, I’ll tell him for you, if you’d like. It’s your choice, Arthur.”

Arthur stood there for a moment, closing his eyes so he could just  _ think _ . These past few days--no, not just days,  _ years  _ had been hard on him, and he’d bottled it up the whole time. He’d just exploded, and started to trust people enough to let them support him. 

He opened his eyes and looked at his aunt, and then his boyfriend. They were both sitting there, patiently awaiting his decision. They hadn’t left him. He had been so scared that they would; scared to the point that he pushed them away before they could do it to him. But he had been wrong. They loved him--they were proof that he could be loved. And, hell, if Arthur didn’t love proof.

He took a deep breath, stabilizing himself before saying, “You can tell him. I… he deserves to know. I would tell him myself but…” He shrugged his shoulders, feeling so lost and confused even though he knew exactly where he was and what was going on. “I really don’t have the energy in me to relive the whole thing.”

His aunt got up from the bed and came over to hug him. She ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his back. “You’ll be an amazing psychiatrist some day, Arthur,” she whispered to him. “You’ll help so many people--give them an example of why they need to push through every challenge they face. You’ll be able to show them, better than anyone, that they’re not alone.” She moved back, but didn’t fully let him go. “You’re not alone, love. Okay?”

He nodded, looking at the ground so she wouldn’t see his tears. “Okay,” he choked out. His aunt kissed his forehead before taking her leave. 

She turned around at the last moment, one foot still inside their room. “Francis, thank you so much for helping him.” She closed the door before either of the boys could answer.

Without a word, Arthur crawled back onto the bed, and into Francis’ lap. He just wanted to be held, and, quite frankly, his boyfriend gave amazing hugs.

They stayed like that for a few moments. Francis eventually broke the silence. “She’s right, you know.” When Arthur didn’t answer, he kept going. “You could help so many people, mon cher. You’re a living example of everything that they need to see.”

Arthur didn’t lift his head off of Francis’ shoulder, speaking into his neck when he said, “How can I fix others when I’m so broken?”

His boyfriend held him tighter, like he was scared Arthur would run away from him. Well, that was a responsible fear, considering that Arthur had done it once. “You’re going to get better. And then you can prove to everyone else that they can get better, too.”

Arthur smiled into Francis’ neck, despite the pain he felt in his chest. “I really like that idea.”

Francis gave him another gentle squeeze before patting his back. “Let’s get to sleep, mon cher.”

Arthur hummed in agreement, getting off of Francis so that they could get under the covers. Arthur didn’t protest when Francis gave him a sweet kiss, then tucked himself into the Brit, face to chest. Arthur could feel his boyfriend’s breath of his collar bones. They wrapped their arms around each other, both sending out their thanks to whatever or whoever was looking out for them for letting them find each other, and keeping them together through all of the crazy things that had happened. 

Arthur woke up in the middle of the night, really needing to use the bathroom. He slipped out of the bed while doing his best not to wake up Francis, who had been sprawled on top of him, and left to take care of his business. When he got back, he found Francis had rolled to the other side of the bed. Arthur smiled, tucking himself back into the covers behind his boyfriend so that his chest was pressed flush against Francis’ back, and wrapping his arms around his waist. 

He knew that what he had done--the way he had over-reacted at the hotel, hurt himself, and lied by omission about all of his problems--had hurt Francis more than Arthur had ever thought it could. How Francis found it in himself to forgive Arthur, and how he never ceased to love him despite every flaw, was beyond Arthur’s ability to comprehend. He had no idea how Francis could even like someone as broken and wrecked as Arthur. All he knew as he drifted off to sleep, holding the boy he loved with every fibre of his being so much that it hurt, was that Francis did love him. And he was there. And he would do anything that Arthur ever needed him to do.

He knew that he loved Francis. And now, it didn’t scare him like it used to.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Back with another chapter. We just got a bunch of COVID-19 updates where I am, so things are getting a little nerve wracking. I'm stressing, bros, and my eczema is feeling it (it's partly stress triggered, and has even gotten on my face now, which hasn't happened in years).  
> I hope you're all doing okay, and stay safe.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

Wow. Just… _wow_. Waking up next to Francis took Arthur’s breath away. He stayed there, wide awake and listening to his heart pound in his chest so loudly that he thought it would wake up the boy who was still asleep next to him.

Francis had rolled over again while they had slept, giving Arthur a perfect view of his face. Every muscle relaxed, his lips slightly parted, hair fanning over the pillow like waves over sand. Arthur was glad to see that the bags under his eyes were lighter than before. Gently, he ran his fingers over Francis’ jaw line. How could Francis, beautiful, perfect Francis, love Arthur? He felt like he’d be asking that question for a long time.

Francis’ eyelashes fluttered as he took a deeper breath than before. He pulled Arthur closer, mumbled something unintelligible.

“Frog, I can’t tell what you’re saying if you don’t get your face out of my chest,” Arthur chuckled, combing through Francis’ locks with one hand, propped up on his other elbow. 

“I said, ‘c’mere’,” Francis mumbled, just loud enough so that Arthur could tell what he was saying. 

“Love, I’m already right here,” Arthur explained. “I couldn’t be any closer.”

“I could think of a few ways.”

“Francis, we could be caught.”

“That didn’t stop us at the hotel.”

“That room had a lock.”

“So does this one.”

“It’s my aunt’s house, Francis. Besides, someone could hear us. Don’t be ridiculous.” With that, Arthur went to get out of the bed so he could dress properly before going downstairs to greet his family, who were no doubt already awake by this hour. Francis seemed to have other ideas and pulled him back down onto the bed.

Arthur’s boyfriend climbed over him, pinning him onto the bed before whispering in his ear, “We could be quiet.”

Shivers ran through Arthur. Francis’ antics were not helping the semi-hard on that he had been sporting already just from waking up. 

“Francis,” Arthur warned, but it was no use. The Frenchman started kissing down his neck, starting right by his jaw. When he got to Arthur’s shirt collar, he pulled it down gently, and kissed as far as he could reach. “ _Francis_ ,” Arthur gasped. His boyfriend sat back for a moment and pushed Arthur’s shirt up so he could reach more skin, then continued to work him up with more soft kisses.

Right when Arthur thought he was going to go crazy--like the rope that was his sanity was about to snap--Francis stopped abruptly. Arthur opened his eyes, not realising that he had closed them in the first place, to see Francis looking at his side solemnly.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see what Francis was staring at. Oh, those. Old scars, barely visible now, scattered on his hips. There were a few new ones, but Arthur had stopped cutting those areas around the time Francis came around. And that he started sleeping around. “They’re mostly from a long time ago,” he said thickly, a sad attempt at consoling his boyfriend.

Francis ran his thumb along them, not making eye contact with Arthur. “Why did you never tell me?” he asked. 

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“But why not me?” Finally, Francis looked up, tears threatening to spill in his eyes. Arthur hated that he seemed to make Francis cry so much. It felt like a punch of guilt to the gut every time.

“I thought you didn’t want me, Francis,” Arthur explained as gently as he was capable, sitting up fully so that he could run a hand through Francis’ hair. “I was already scared you’d leave me. The last thing I was going to do was tell you that I was fucked in the head.”

Francis looked at Arthur like he _was_ crazy, before shaking his head and staring at the scars once more. Arthur gasped when he started to place kisses on every scar. It felt like butterfly wings caressing his skin. The Brit almost started crying then and there. What had he done right to deserve someone as kind and caring as Francis? With every kiss placed on his scars, Francis washed away the negativity that lingered in Arthur like ghosts in a haunted house. Then, he crawled back up to Arthur, pushing him back onto the pillows without laying a hand on him. “You’re not fucked in the head, mon cher,” he said, hovering over Arthur, resting on his elbows. “You were untreated and undiagnosed.”

“I still am,” Arthur said, wrapping his arms around Francis’ neck to pull him closer, resting their foreheads together.

After a beat, Francis said, “When we get back to London, I can go with you to the hospital and we can fix that.”

“What if they try to keep me?” Arthur asked, fear creeping into his voice. He felt small--completely powerless at the idea that he could be held in the psych ward. Sure, it was probably the best thing for him, but it was the last thing he wanted to do. Being forced away from Francis would just hurt him more. 

Francis kissed the tip of Arthur’s nose. “I won’t let them.”

After holding each other for a few more minutes of holding each other in comforting silence, the door swung open, startling both boys.

“Are you coming down for breakfast or what?” Alfred asked, looking annoyed. Knowing the Jones’, they were waiting for Arthur and Francis before eating. Alfred hated waiting to eat. Honestly, he had an endless pit of a stomach. Arthur was equally impressed and disgusted at how many burgers this boy was capable of eating. And he was hitting a growth spurt, certainly, so it would only get worse. “What are you even doing up here?”

“Let’s go, Al,” Mattie said, seeming to appear out of nowhere behind his brother, pulling his sleeve before he could ask any more questions. Leaving the door wide open, the two boys left. Mattie backtracked, shutting the door after saying, “I’ll tell them that you were still sleeping.” He was gone before either boy could thank him.

They got dressed hurriedly, sharing a quick kiss before going downstairs to join Arthur’s family for breakfast.

It was much more tense than the previous day. All throughout breakfast, Arthur could feel his uncle looking at him. He sat straight in his chair, pretending to not notice the sad looks his uncle kept giving him. Arthur was worried that his uncle would try to talk to him about… everything. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mr. Jones--he did. And he loved him as much as he loved his aunt. But… it hurt so much to talk about, and it was _hard_. Arthur just wanted to ignore it for now, pretend that everything was normal, and that he didn’t need to be in a hospital and on pills at the moment. He was saved from having to make any excuses to be excused and avoid any potential situation by Gilbert. 

After taking a pause from demolishing the pancakes in front of him, the German said, “I was thinking of visiting my brother today. I’d like to take Arthur, Francis, and Toni with me, if that’s alright.” 

He looked at Mrs. Jones as he said this, like he wanted her permission. It was easy to tell that she ran the household, but Gilbert seemed to take it hard core. Could be his essentially military training from his late father, or it could be his unresolved issues from losing his mother that were making him latch on to the newest, strong female figure he could find. Arthur was betting it was a combination. He decided to not say anything, sipping his tea quietly as he pondered it in his mind.

“Of course, darling,” Mrs. Jones said, and Arthur (or anyone at the table) didn’t miss the way that Gilbert smiled wider at the nickname. “Why don’t you invite him here? We’d love to meet him.”

“Sure,” Gilbert replied, clearly excited to see his little brother, whipping out his phone. “I’ll text him.”

“Is he older or younger than you?” Mr. Jones asked. 

“Younger,” Gil replied. “What’s the address?” Once he got it, he sent it to Ludwig, putting his phone away and looking at Mattie and Alfred. “You guys probably know him.”

“What’s his name?” Alfred asked, before his brother could even get a word out. “Is he in our grade?”

“Ludwig, he’s your guys’ age.” 

Arthur sipped some more tea, smiling around his mug. Without anyone saying anything to him, Gilbert was including Mattie in everything he included Alfred in. With Alfred’s loud personality, it was all too easy for Mattie to fade into the background. But Gilbert kept bringing him to the forefront. It was good for Mattie. Arthur was pleased. Mattie probably was, too.

“I don’t know him,” Alfred replied, brows furrowing. 

“He’s in my English class,” Mattie practically whispered. “We’re in the same book club group.”

“Oh, yeah, you guys are reading ‘The Giver’, right?” Gilbert said, drinking some more coffee. Mattie smiled, and then he was talking about the book, becoming more confident with every word. Arthur smiled to himself again, looking at Mrs. and Mr. Jones. They all shared a smile, loving that Mattie was coming out of his shell, and that Gilbert was actually paying attention to every word he said.

They all helped with dinner clean up, though Antonio was the most efficient and did most of it. Mr. Jones gave him a pat on the shoulder, saying, “Thanks, kiddo,” causing Antonio to nearly drop a plate and have a heart attack.

He gave a shaky smile, saying, “N-no problem.”

Francis and Gilbert flew in, saving Antonio from any more uncomfortable interaction, which Arthur laughed at. They were like parents, honestly. The three of them all switched between mom and dad roles with each other, ignoring the fact that they were all just kids with insane lives and sub-par parenting. Francis was the best off, though he still didn’t actually _see_ his parents often. That took its toll on someone eventually, Arthur knew.

About an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Gilbert sprinted to it, swinging it open and launching himself at their visitor. Arthur peered around the door to see Gilbert clinging to a boy maybe an inch shorter than him, but clearly several years younger. The older of the two was going on about how much he had missed his little brother, and asking him how everything was while he was gone, though he gave his little brother no time to answer.

“Gil,” Antonio laughed. “Maybe let Ludwig in so you don’t both freeze out there.”

Gilbert pulled his younger brother into the foyer, closing the door behind them. Everyone else stood there, looking at Ludwig. 

He barely looked like Gilbert. His skin was peach toned, and his hair was a Captain America-like cut, blonde and all. Though it was a bit lighter than Chris Evans’. Though he was tall, he was small. Next to Gilbert he looked like a twig. His nose was straight, unlike Gilbert’s pointy elf-looking nose. The eyes had the same shape, but Ludwig’s were as blue as the afternoon sky. They had the same strong jaw, though Ludwig’s clearly wasn’t as defined yet since he was younger. 

Though they seemed to have many physical differences, their mannerisms were quite similar. The same strong stance, straight back, and squared shoulders. Ludwig didn’t have the same protective look in his eye, though. His just seemed distant, though Arthur was sure that it was just a side effect of being anxious around people, if his calculated breathing and wandering eyes said anything.

“This is my little brother,” Gilbert said, wrapping an arm around Ludwig’s shoulder. He turned to his brother. “Did you grow again while I was gone?” Ludwig opened his mouth to answer, but Gilbert was already pretending to push him down like one would close a Jack-in-the-box. “Shrink! Stop growing so much! I don’t want you to be taller than me!”

Ludwig sighed, clearly used to his older brother’s antics by now. “Gil, I can’t exactly shrink.” He stepped back and looked at everyone. “I’m Ludwig,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” His tone was even, calculated, just like the rest of him. There wasn’t a speck on his coat. Arthur figured the rest of his outfit would be in a similar condition.

“I’m Sara,” Mrs. Jones said, coming over to shake Ludwig’s hand. “This is my husband, Frank, and our two sons, Alfred and Matthew.” She gestured to everyone respectively, then smiled at him, saying, “Why don’t you take your boots off? Stay a while.”

Ludwig didn’t answer, just took off his boots and unzipped his coat. He moved with an unnatural grace, like everything was practiced, and there could be no room for error. Mrs. Jones hung his coat for him on the coat rack, and Ludwig walked a bit more into the living room, still staying close to Gilbert. Arthur had been right. There wasn’t a crease in his black flannel, nor his white t-shirt, nor his black jeans. No signs of wear-and-tear. Clearly the military lifestyle had been more ingrained into Ludwig, or he just hadn’t bothered to try and get out of it like Gilbert had.

Ludwig stood there, clearly not knowing what to do with himself as everyone took seats in the living room. Mattie was his saving grace. He scooted over on the couch, making room for him. “Have you finished our book club book yet?”

Relief flashed in Ludwig’s eyes, and he hesitantly went over to sit by Mattie. “No, but I’m near the end. Did you?”

The two boys started talking about the book, and while Mattie didn’t seem to open up quite as much as he had with Gilbert, he was still better than usual. Ludwig seemed to be the same way. 

“Luddy,” Gilbert cut in. Ludwig’s shoulders slumped for only a moment, seemingly not fond of the nickname. He recovered quickly, however.

“Ja?”

“How’s your boyfriend?” Gilbert grinned, and Ludwig gave a deep sigh, glaring at his brother.

“For the last time, he’s not my boyfriend,” Ludwig clarified. “And did no one teach you about being discreet?” 

“They did, I just decided not to listen,” Gilbert replied. Mrs. Jones chuckled, which only seemed to make Gilbert more proud of himself.

“Clearly,” Ludwig said, obviously not as pleased with Gilbert’s behaviour as his brother was. Ludwig acted far older than he was. Arthur could only make assumptions as to why. “Feli is fine, by the way.”

“How’s Lovino?” Antonio asked, and visibly cringed at the desperation evident in his voice. 

Ludwig shuddered. “He’s angry as always. I don’t think he likes me.”

Antonio leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He was seated in the couch perpendicular to the one Ludwig was sitting on. He smiled softly, his eyes looking far away. “I doubt that. It’s just an act.”

“Tell me that again when he yells at _you_ in Italian,” Ludwig said, sounding very close to complaining. Subconsciously, he leaned toward Antonio, too. 

Antonio laughed, puzzling Arthur to no end. “He’s done that to me. Again, he doesn’t mean it. He likes to seem _macho_ ,” he emphasized this by flexing in a ridiculous pose, making everyone crack up, “but Lovino’s actually a softie.”

“I never thought I’d hear ‘Lovino’ and ‘softie’ in the same sentence,” Ludwig said, shaking his head. 

“Who’s ‘Lovino’?” Mr. Jones asked. “Did I forget someone?” Small bits of laughter came from everyone, including Mr. Jones. 

Antonio answered hesitantly. “He’s Ludwig’s friend’s older brother. He came to live with my family and I in Spain a few years back, and we recently got in touch again.”

Gilbert muttered a joke into Francis’ ear, causing them both to start laughing beside Arthur.

“What did he say?” Arthur asked, but Francis waved him off.

“I’ll,” he said between chuckles, “tell you later, mon cher.”

Antonio stared at the two laughing boys, looking less than impressed, which only made them laugh harder. “Sometimes I wonder why I bother with you two.”

“Because,” Francis started.

“You love us,” Gilbert finished.

Antonio looked at Arthur for an adequate answer, but Arthur just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m dating one of them.” Francis wrapped his arm around Arthur and gave him a kiss on the temple. “Disgusting,” Arthur deadpanned. “How dare you.”

The group laughed, and even Ludwig smiled a bit. Conversations broke out amongst the group, and Arthur and Francis poked fun at each other. It made Arthur feel better, like he wasn’t here in a desperate attempt from his aunt to fix him. It made him feel normal.

He didn’t want it to end.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys!
> 
> Another chapter for y'all :)  
> I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.   
> Be mindful of other's feelings, and let's support each other.
> 
> Thanks, darlings <3

When dinner rolled around, Ludwig made to leave, but Arthur’s aunt stopped him. 

“We were going to watch a movie tonight,” she said. “Why don’t you stay?”

Ludwig seemed to have much more resolve than Gilbert, and declined her offer. “I appreciate the offer, but I am expected back for dinner, so I must decline.”

Arthur gave a silent approval to his etiquette. He was well articulated, especially for english not being his first language. Arthur was impressed. 

Gilbert waited with him by the door, but didn’t go outside when a car pulled up in the laneway. He glared at whoever was in the driver’s seat with the most malice Arthur had ever seen. It alarmed the Brit. Who was Gilbert glaring at, and why did he seem to be so perturbed by their presence? Should they be worried about sending Ludwig away with these people? Even once his brother left, Gilbert didn’t move away from the door. The tension in his shoulders was visible. 

“Hey,” Arthur said, coming up next to his side. “Is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Gilbert said through clenched teeth. His arms were crossed, but he seemed to actually be holding himself in a firm embrace. Most people wouldn’t have pushed the subject, but Arthur decided to.

“If you’d like to talk about it--” that was all it took. Just like at the hot tub, Gilbert was spilling his emotional beans to Arthur.

“It’s my fucking cousin,” he hissed. A dark look came over his face and he shot daggers with his eyes at where the car Ludwig had gotten into had been parked moments before. “He doesn’t even have to say anything. I can feel his goddamn disapproval from here, and it pisses me off. Like, sorry I can’t ever seem to do enough and I can’t remember Catholic verses in Latin for the life of me, but at least I’m trying to! Sorry I dropped out of high school, but I can’t fucking depend on people anymore!”

A beat. Then two. “You dropped out of high school?” Arthur asked. 

Gilbert sighed, the resolve of looking tough fleeing out of him. “I had to. I needed to get a job, and working while being in school was too much to juggle at once. I didn’t even bother going at all for the last year. I started working construction in the summer, and the guy overseeing construction for the company offered me a job as his secretary. I’m moving out soon. Once break is over, I’m moving into my own apartment.” Gilbert smiled to himself, almost like he forgot Arthur was there. “I put the down payment before break. I’m able to move in once they’re done cleaning to place up.”

Arthur perked up at hearing this. “That’s amazing. Really, Gilbert. Most people live in their parents’ house until their 20s or so. But you’ve been able to get a secure job and a place of your own at 17. That’s amazing.”

Gilbert smiled a bit, though his eyes were swarmed with sadness. “18,” he corrected. “And it is pretty great. But…” He finally broke eye contact with the pavement, looking at Arthur with tears in his eyes. “It’s never good enough for him. Nothing is.”

Arthur wrapped his arms around Gilbert’s waist, and the other boy uncrossed his arms to wrap them around Arthur. 

“Gilbert, you’re overcoming losses that would knock anyone else off of their feet permanently. On top of that, you’re making a life for yourself, and doing it on your own. You’re growing up in some of the hardest ways, but you’re doing it. And, eventually, you’ll stop judging yourself by how other people see you,” Arthur whispered in his ear, rubbing his back in slow circles. He realised that the sounds by his ear were Gilbert’s soft sobs being muffled by his shoulder. Arthur held Gilbert tighter, rocking them back and forth. 

Gilbert calmed down relatively soon, and lifted himself off of the shorter boy’s shoulder, standing back a bit like he was appalled by his own tears.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. 

“Don’t be,” Arthur replied. “We all need a shoulder to cry on, Gilbert.”

Gilbert huffed out a laugh. “You’re a good friend, Arthur.” He looked up at Arthur, meeting his gaze. The Brit was glad to see that their usual fun shine was coming back. “And you can call me ‘Gil’. No one calls me ‘Gilbert’ except for old people.”

Arthur laughed, pushing him jokingly. “Well,  _ Gil,  _ I’m old at heart.”

Gilbert fully laughed at this, and Arthur was happy; he was able to help someone else, he had pulled Gilbert out of the funk he was in, and he was Gilbert’s  _ friend _ . 

Arthur was smiling all the way through movie night. 

When they went back to their rooms, Gilbert said an extra ‘good night’ to Arthur in the hall, which the Brit returned. He and Francis left for their room.

“What’s going on with Gilbert?” Francis asked, pulling off his shirt.

Arthur fumbled for a moment at seeing Francis shirtless before he answered, “I think it was hard for him to see his cousin again. He seems to have some stuff going on, and I don’t think he ever fully processed his past.”

Francis chuckled. “You already sound like a psychologist.” Arthur blushed with embarrassment, but Francis walked over to hug him. He was so warm. Arthur couldn’t help but lean in. “I like it,” Francis added, kissing his nose.

“Frog,” Arthur replied, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Francis retorted by kissing him, and Arthur kissed back. One kiss, then two, three. They molded into each other, standing there in the guest room kissing like they depended on each other. Arthur thought that maybe they did. He definitely depended on Francis, but maybe Francis depended on him, too. Arthur liked the idea that he could mean that much to someone, and by the way his boyfriend was kissing him, he meant a lot to Francis. 

They moved back to the bed, where Francis took off Arthur’s shirt. Trousers were kicked off in a matter of moments, and they were all too eager to take their boxers off. Francis paused once more, settling over Arthur before he took off Arthur’s bandages, kissing every single mark, old and new. Arthur gasped with every kiss, his skin incredibly sensitive. 

It reminded him of the first time they ever hung out, back in London in Francis’ mansion. So much had changed, and for the better, yet Francis remained gentle and kind. Arthur’s heart swelled with all of the gratitude and love he felt for his boyfriend.

Matching Francis’ gentleness, Arthur brought his face back up so he could kiss his boyfriend again. “I love you,” he whispered against his soft lips, smiling. 

Francis smiled back, the light at the end of Arthur’s tunnel, the silver lining of his storm clouds. With Francis by his side, Arthur could do anything.

“I love you, too,” Francis whispered back.

They didn’t go to sleep until late that night.

The next day, Antonio was off to see Lovino. And he was a nervous wreck about it. He even spoke through breakfast.

“But what if he doesn’t want to see me?” he asked for the millionth time since they’d come to America. He was barely eating his breakfast, and wouldn’t stop fidgeting in his seat.

“He sounds like an ass,” Alfred said, which got him immediately scolded by his parents.

“Alfred,” his father said sternly. “We do not call people that.” He turned back to Antonio, smiling again as Gilbert gave him sympathetic shoulder pats. “Antonio, I’m sure your friend will be happy to see you after all this time. There’s no need to worry. He’ll be glad, you look fine, and you won’t say anything completely idiotic. Now, eat your breakfast, son.”

Antonio finally ate his breakfast.

He changed one more time before heading out, bringing Arthur, Francis, and Gilbert up with him, insisting that he needed all of their approvals before an outfit could be chosen.

In the end, he chose black jeans and a knitted lilac sweater. He put in his earrings, too, which Arthur didn’t know that he had. He didn’t have as many as Arthur, but they were still cool. Francis insisted that he wear his black boots, because, “there’s no other option, Toni,” and Gilbert said that his black leather belt was mandatory because, “you know you’ll be too anxious without one.”

He wouldn’t look in the mirror when he finished changing in the washroom and had come back to the bedroom. 

“Why won’t you look in the mirror?” Arthur asked. “You look great.”

That was a lie. Antonio looked  _ amazing _ . The lilac sweater made his skin look even more copper, and it complimented his eyes in a way that made one want to keep staring. The jeans hugged his legs in the best way, showing off his form without being skin tight. He looked sexy yet cute, and Arthur couldn’t believe someone so gorgeous could doubt his charm.

Antonio shifted his weight onto his other foot, tugging at his sleeves. “I don’t want to be disappointed,” he mumbled. Gilbert and Francis immediately started to hype him up, saying how amazing he looked, while Arthur got off of the bed and took Antonio’s hands in his.

“You don’t want him to be disappointed,” Arthur said, though it was more of a correction.

Antonio wouldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. “We haven’t seen each other in so long.”

“Do you not think he’s thinking the same thing?” Arthur asked. Antonio huffed out a dry laugh.

“But I know he’s still gorgeous as ever,” Antonio retorted. “You never saw him. He’s perfect in every way. Even his flaws are perfectly imperfect.”

“Antonio,” Arthur started. “You used perfect too many times in that sentence to be healthy.” They all laughed, though Antonio still seemed nervous. “You are good enough. I don’t know where the idea that you aren’t good enough for,” Arthur stalled, having forgotten the guy’s name again.

“Lovino?” Antonio offered. He said it like it was a blessing--a privilege.

“Him. Anyway, you are good enough for him. He wants to see you, too. And, think about it. You’re ditching your life, however shitty it seems to be, for this boy. So, Wonder Woman up, as Afred would say, and get your ass to the cafe so you don’t keep the love of your life waiting.” Arthur started shooing the now laughing Antonio out of the room. All the way down the stairs, he kept saying, “Go on. Get him. You can do it.” Gilbert and Francis were cheering so loud that Antonio had to shush them so he could call a cab, but he never got to.

Mr. Jones came out cheering, too. “No clue what’s going on,” he laughed. “What’cha boys up to?”

“Antonio’s calling a cab so he can see his boyfriend,” Gilbert teased from the top of the stairs. 

Antonio glared at him. “He’s  _ not _ my boyfriend!”

“Calling a cab?” Mr. Jones asked, like that was the most important part about what was said. “Not on my watch. Where you need to get, son? I’ll drive you.”

Antonio was immediately stammering out, “No, that’s okay, really don’t bother, it’s fine--”

Mr. Jones patted his shoulder, and Antonio flinched less that time. “It’s no bother. Come on,” he said, grabbing his keys and putting on his boots and coat. Antonio rushed to follow suit, and then they were gone.

“How much money do you wanna bet that he runs back in here all excited and saying he worried for nothing?” Gilbert said snarkily, and Francis elbowed him.

“We’re not betting on his love life,” he replied.

“We should’ve bet on his love life,” Francis sighed. “I could’ve gotten even richer.”

Antonio had nearly taken the door down when he got back, so excited about how well it went. “He even said I could move in with him so I don’t have to spend extra money on dorms!” he cheered into Gilbert’s restraining hug. 

“You have a full ride scholarship, Toni,” Gilbert replied, but Antonio didn’t even hear him.

“I would get to see him every day, Gil! Every. Day!”

“And will you like that?” Gilbert asked sarcastically. 

The trio, plus Arthur, had the house to themselves at the moment. The Jones’ had gone to get groceries, or something like that, and Francis, Arthur, and Gilbert had opted to stay behind so they would be there for Antonio’s return. Arthur was glad that they did, because this was hilarious. He’d never seen Antonio so… loud. And cheery. He was all around bubbly. It suited him. Arthur had a feeling that this was the real Antonio that had been hidden behind the anxiety and uncertainty. 

“Okay,” Francis interjected. “But did you fuck?” At Antonio’s pause, the other three boys started yelling. “You guys were in a public area!” Francis cried. “The indecency!”

“We were parked away from prying eyes, don’t worry,” Antonio laughed.

“Car sex!” Gilbert pretended to faint on the couch. “Our poor, innocent Toni has been defiled! The horror!”

“Oh, will you two stop yelling so we can get the details,” Arthur half-scolded.

Begrudgingly (it was not begrudgingly--Antonio had to tell someone about that day’s events or he’d explode) Antonio told his friends everything. How exhilarating it was to see Lovino again, how they took turns summarizing the last two years while drinking coffee at the cafe. And how they held hands when they went to get bubble tea in the mall nearby (bubble tea had become one of Lovino’s favourite things when he moved to the city, and Antonio had loved it, too. And he loved that Lovino had thought it important to share the things he loved with Antonio). They wandered around the mall for a while after, never letting each other’s hands go until Lovino got up on his tiptoes (yeah, he was that much shorter than Antonio, and the Spaniard loved it) and asked if Antonio wanted to take this back to Lovino’s car.

“And, then, yeah,” Antonio finished. Immediate uprival came from Francis and Gilbert. Arthur laughed at their ridiculous behaviour.

“You’re leaving out the best part of the story,” they whined.

“I’m not going into detail about it,” Antonio replied smugly. Arthur figured he liked having the upper hand in this situation. Like waving a bone in front of dogs.

“What if we ask questions and you say yes or no?” Arthur offered, and Antonio agreed.

Turns out they had gotten up to a lot in that short amount of time. Was it fucking awesome? Yes. Did Antonio top again? Yes. Hair pulling? 100% Spanking? Got ‘em. Dirty talk? An unhealthy amount. Praise? Obviously. 

Antonio stayed pretty tight lipped about the actual details (like what exactly was said), however, no matter how much Francis and Gilbert begged him to spill. 

“Some things,” he said, “are not meant to be shared.”

They weren’t able to interrogate him much after that, because the Jones’ came back. Antonio immediately turned to his friends and glared. “Not a word,” he whispered. 

In a very mature manner, they waved and blew kisses at him in response. Arthur rolled his eyes.

Mr. Jones was all over Antonio though, asking how it went. Arthur grabbed Francis and Gilbert by the sleeves and pulled them into the kitchen to help with dinner, giving Antonio some space to talk to Mr. Jones alone. No doubt the bloke needed it.

Francis and Gilbert didn’t really know what to do with themselves, so they ended up sitting at the dinner table, talking with Matthew and Alfred. Arthur didn’t really hear what they were discussing; he was much too preoccupied with what he was talking about with his aunt.

“I’m glad you found someone like Francis, love,” she said, smiling at her nephew. 

Arthur smiled back, though he kept his attention on the tomatoes that he was cutting. “I am, too.”

“It’s obvious that you two aren’t leaving each other any time soon. Have you decided on a school yet?”

Arthur paused for a moment before answering, anxious about thinking of the future. “I think I am going to try and become a psychologist, but I haven’t picked a university yet.”

“Y’know,” she started, “you could always stay here for university. We’d be happy to have you stay with us, love.” 

Arthur couldn’t help but immediately look at Francis, who was pointedly not looking at him, twisting his hair between his fingers and completely silent. He’d been listening. 

What could Arthur do? Or say? Staying here was an amazing option. It would save him money on dorms, get him out of his house which he’d already come to the realisation that he couldn’t stay in, and he could be with his family.  _ He could be with his family. _

Swallowing, Arthur replied, “I’ll think about it.”

“Take your time, love,” his aunt said, kissing his temple and wrapping an arm around him.

All throughout dinner, Arthur was lost to his thoughts. Should he stay here? Should he go to school in the UK? Suddenly, it felt like there were too many options for him. Too many choices. Looking at his two cousins, at how big and grown up they seemed, he knew that he couldn’t miss any more of their lives. He’d lost so many years with them, missed them growing up. He couldn’t get those years back. His aunt and uncle were scared for him, too. He’d put them through so much during this break. He didn’t want their last memories of him being around to be him with bandaged arms and broken eyes, barely holding onto the tethers of his sanity. But he couldn’t just leave Francis, who put his life on hold and was willing to do anything for Arthur. Francis, who had saved him from himself and was working on helping Arthur get better. Francis, the only man to love him despite all of his issues, and that Arthur loved, too.

He’d have to make a choice. And soon.


End file.
